


It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

by nocturneequuis



Category: One Piece
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, One Piece Advent Calender, Other, lots of stuff eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-02-27 20:33:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 82,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2705831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocturneequuis/pseuds/nocturneequuis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles and ficlets for the One Piece Advent Calender 2014. Numerous pairings will abound and sometimes things may get a little more saucy than not, I'll warn in the headers however</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Let It Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoro and Ace have been having a thing for a little while now. What kind of thing? Just sex right? Yeah, just sex. But Zoro is going to try and give him his present anyway. 
> 
> (Gets a little MA)

Zoro stood outside of Ace’s apartment, the snow sifting on his hair and a wrapped present tucked under his arm. The snow fell in fat flakes and hissed on his red cheeks and he was suddenly uncertain. They’d been— they’d been something for a short while now, nothing easily defined, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted to do this. He wasn’t even sure if he should do this. 

But he’d come this far. He wouldn’t give up. Zoro took a deep breath, clenching his fist and then pressed the buzzer for the intercom, his breath frosting in the air. Ace didn’t answer directly, he never did, but the upstairs window opened and the man peered out, shirtless as usual as he leaned out and peered into the street, white snow landing gracefully on his black hair. Zoro’s breath caught and for a moment he forgot what breathing was like. How did it even work? He knew he should move into the man’s line of sight, but his feet were rooted to the ground. 

Ace looked around, then spotted him finally, a wide grin breaking across his freckled face and Zoro felt his heart melt warm into his shoes. Fuck. This was no good. No good at all.

“Yo!” Ace said, raising a hand. “Come up! I’ll get some popcorn going.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Zoro said, managing to get his voice a little past a croak. It occurred to him faintly to ask Ace to wait until he got up there otherwise there wouldn’t be popcorn so much as charcoal— but then he had to focus on counting the steps. He couldn’t remember the number of times he’d walked into the wrong apartment. Hell, even the wrong building. It was because they all looked alike. That was the problem. Couldn’t even paint the damn buildings a different color. 

He grumbled this way, missing Ace’s apartment on the way up, and then knocking on the door and seeing a startled family with wide saucer eyes and apologized, face reddening. He started back up again and was suddenly yanked off his feet and pulled toward a door. 

“Oi!” he said, but his voice died as Ace grinned at him.

“You moron,” Ace said, with that damn grin. 

“Oi…” Zoro said, completely unprepared for being pulled into the warmth of the apartment. There were Christmas lights everywhere and a tree which was huge and stuffed with ornaments, topped, weirdly, with a blue annoyed looking bird. A fake bird. Zoro made sure of it this time. 

“Merry Christmas, stupid,” Ace said, closing the door. Zoro opened his mouth to protest, but then Ace’s mouth was hot over his and the man was pressing his tongue in achingly hot, his hands on Zoro’s hips. Fuck. Damnit, Portgas, let him get a word in!

“You taste good,” Ace murmured, when Zoro had a moment to breathe. The present was still held loosely in his hand as Ace slid down the zipper of his jacket down and slid those damn greedy hands inside. Then his hot breath was tickling in Zoro’s ear: “Best present ever.” And the heat of his tongue danced against Zoro’s earrings. 

“Wait a second, damnit,” Zoro muttered. Though it was har— difficult—when all he wanted to do was to thread his hand through Ace’s hair and— Ace bit the side of his neck and Zoro growled at him, but couldn’t help but arch a little as Ace pushed his jacket off so that it fell to a wet pile to the floor. 

“I’m going to fuck you til you—” Ace started. Then broke away, stared at Zoro, then threw back his head and laughed. 

“What?” Zoro said, annoyed. 

“What is _that_!” and he pointed. Zoro looked down. It was a sweater. Something that Chopper had given him. It was red and green and had mistletoe and reindeer and some shit like that. It was Christmassy and warm which satisfied both Luffy and himself. 

“It’s a sweater.” 

“You are a huge dork, Roronoa,” Ace said, pressing Zoro’s cheeks together. But his dark eyes were so fond and the smile so wide that Zoro couldn’t even be mad at him. Asshole.

“At least I’m not shirtless,” he muttered. But it was hard to be dignified when his mouth looked like a fish. Ace chuckled again and pressed his lips against Zoro’s. There was a small whoof of air from somewhere kitchenward and the fire alarm went off. 

“Shit! Popcorn!” Ace yelped, bolting toward the kitchen. Every damn time. Zoro shook his head, unable to keep his own smile from his face as he put up his jacket and looked at his sweater in the mirror. It was just a damn sweater. What was so funny. Before he turned away he noticed a bite mark on his neck next to an older hickey.  
He sighed. People were starting to notice. There was nothing subtle about dating a D. He’d been warned. Why hadn’t he listened? 

Not that they were dating.

No. 

It was just sex —and—not cuddling but— sitting close together on occasion—which was foreplay. Right. He moved to sit on the couch and nervously placed the present on it. Then reconsidered and picked it up to put it in his jacket pocket. Then reconsidered again and put it down. Maybe he should just take his name off it and hide it under the presents overflowing from out from under the tree. 

No. No if he was going to do it he was going to put his name to it. So he should probably wait until he was ready, right? There was the sound of the fire extinguisher. Another woof, and a loud “son of a bitch!” Before the sound of a sink at high volume. Black smoke rolled through the air. If he had to call the fire department again, that was just going to kill the mood.

Ace crossed the space, waving a hand in front of his face and opened the windows. 

“It’s like that damn cop in here,” he muttered. 

“Cop?” Zoro asked. Ace looked at him, a strange solemn look on his face. Then grinned. 

“Don’t worry about it, tiger. I’m going to make some eggnog instead.” 

“Try not to burn the place down,” Zoro said with a smirk. Ace flicked him in the head and then went into the kitchen. If Zoro peered around he could see him working, the muscles on his back flexing and working under the tattoo, the line of his lower back. He wanted to bite it. He wanted to have Ace under him, clutching at the sheets and making those long keening sounds as his mouth opened wide. 

It was sex. Just sex. He told himself that. But it was ragingly good sex and he was glad they were both men so he didn’t have to hide his interest. On the other hand… Zoro still felt compelled to not—show it right away. It seemed like he was losing somehow.

Ace came back after a minute, handing him a frosted glass Stein of 110 proof eggnog. 

“This is the good stuff,” Ace said. “What should we toast to?” 

_Us_ , Zoro thought.

“Not burning down the building,” Zoro said. Because there was no us.

“We toast to that every time,” Ace said, making a face. “How about your sweater.” 

“Will you get off my sweater.” 

“I’d rather get under it,” Ace said with a grin, eyebrows bouncing. Zoro snorted. 

“To my sweater,” he muttered. “That Chopper gave me,” he added. 

“Thank you, Chopper,” Ace said as they clinked their Steins. “I never thought I would laugh so hard again.” 

“Go to hell.” 

“Mm. As long as you’re with me,” Ace said, lowering the stein. He had an eggnogstache. Zoro tried not to be charmed by that. Because he was also slightly turned on by the hell thing and the conflicting emotions were doing weird things to his gut. 

Ace took two more gulps. Zoro watched his throat move, resisting the urge to attack it with lips and teeth. Then Ace set the Stein aside, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and flexed his fingers, leering at Zoro with a dark look in his black eyes. 

“Now where were we?” 

“Drinking,” Zoro said. 

“Hmm right,” Ace said, though his expression didn’t change, he leaned forward again, as if to slip the hands under his sweater, when he spotted the present and leaned back.  
“You’ve…got something?” Ace said, red flashing across his face. No, he wasn’t allowed to go red at the same time Zoro felt his own face going red. It was damned adorable but also made him blush more and didn’t help with the freaking conflicting feelings. 

“For you… If you want…” he muttered, handing it over.

“Shit…” Ace breathed. Zoro wasn’t sure why it was such a big deal. It wasn’t as if Ace didn’t have a million damn presents already. 

“I didn’t get you anything…” Ace said, taking the present and fingering the bow with one long finger. Zoro had wrapped it himself. He’d gone through about fifteen youtube videos and almost a whole role of wrapping paper before he was finally satisfied. Weirdly, the ribbon had been the hardest part to get just right. It was stupid, he realized belatedly. It was too much. It was entirely too damn… too damn… It made him feel… too… like a little stupid kid. 

“Don’t need anything,” Zoro said after realizing he hadn’t said anything. A smile quirked the corner of Ace’s lips, but it seemed self-depreciating somehow. Zoro took a chance and leaned in, kissing him lightly. Ace’s smile melted and he kissed Zoro back. 

They made out a little and Zoro couldn’t help but move closer as he tasted Ace’s lips under his, sucked on it gently, explored his mouth as Ace explored his and threaded a hand through Zoro’s hair, the touch was so warm and made his scalp tighten. Someone made a soft moaning noise and he realized it was him, but who the hell cared.  
“Do you know what I’m going to do?” Ace murmured as Zoro moved to plant kisses along the angle of his jaw, raising a hand to stroke the side of Ace’s neck, follow the ridge of his collarbone and feel the muscle of his shoulder.

“Mm?” It was as much a response as Zoro could give. Slow and aching as it was, he felt like he was going to strangle in his jeans if this went on too much longer.  
“I’m going to open the hell out of this present and then fuck the hell out of you.” 

That made him pause. His face and neck hot again. It wasn’t the second part so much as the first. 

“You don’t have to,” he muttered. “It’s really nothing.” 

“Shut up,” Ace said, scratching at Zoro’s hair comfortingly. Not that Zoro needed comforting. He was strong. Those kinds of things were for other people. But he couldn’t help but relax a little, even as Ace pulled at the ends of the ribbon. It came undone flawlessly and the wrapping paper itself opened like a flower. It was too stupid. He’d put too much work into it. Ace’s nose flared and a focused look came to his face. The gift wasn’t really much. It was just a wallet on a chain, and Zoro had the leather engraved with the cow bone skull he wore on the ties to his hat with “Portgas” above it. 

“You don’t have to keep—” Zoro started, but stopped as Ace headbutted him so hard he saw stars. “Ow! What the hell?!” 

“Shut the fuck up! Don’t tell me what to do. I’m going to keep it, you stupid asshole! Of course I am!” 

“You didn’t have to headbutt me!” 

“Like hell I didn’t,” Ace said. He set the present to the side and then roughly tackled Zoro who saw stars again as he bumped his head against the arm of the couch. He was going to have a concussion by the end of this and then Chopper would kill him. 

He thought Ace would go about molesting him as usual, but he didn’t. Instead he just…rested there, arms wrapped around Zoro, head on his chest, breathing deeply. Zoro blinked at him. Then …got it a little and shifted into a more comfortable position, lifting a hesitant hand before deciding enough was damn well enough and lowering it to stroke through Ace’s hair. 

It was black and floppy and beautiful even without snowflakes in it. Zoro had seen it damp with sweat more times than he could count, and had even shampooed it once because Ace had been late for…whatever it was Ace got up to during the day. Right now it was warm and smelled faintly of burned popcorn. 

Zoro smiled. 

Moron. 

He continued to stroke Ace’s hair, looking out at the snow falling past the open windows, silent and white, the town beyond falling into night but lit up with windows and Christmas lights like a million stars. It was good. Very good. Whatever this was— it was good—and warmth blossomed from the center of his chest and moved outward.  
“Merry Christmas, Ace,” he murmured. There was a lengthly pause and for a moment he thought Ace had fallen asleep. Until: 

“Merry Christmas, Zoro.” 

Another long pause. It was warm. It was almost magical. And then hands started sneaking up his sweater and Ace shifted against him, stomach pressing into a part of him that had started to fall asleep but was now waking up. 

“I’ll get to you soon,” Ace said, and Zoro swallowed. The sweater was pushed up a little and Zoro hissed at the sudden cold and then yelped as Ace slid down and bit him right above the navel. 

“Asshole,” he said, though couldn’t pretend heat hadn’t jolted through him. And even more when Ace looked up at him, hair falling into his face, and grinned. 

“I’ll get to that later, too.” 

Zoro laughed. He couldn’t help it. He was horny as hell and there wasn’t anything remotely funny about it, but the laugh rippled out of him anyway, ringing against the ceiling. Ace laughed with him and kissed his stomach and then Zoro’s laugh ended in a quavering note as that hot mouth pressed over the spot which had been seeking attention, hot and wet even through the thick fiber of the jeans. 

Oh hell. He reached down and gripped Ace’s hair as his stomach clenched and bunched. 

“It’s going to be cold…” he said, in an effort to say something. Ace gave him a long heated look. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll let you keep the sweater on.”


	2. Yo Ho the Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once Sanji learned the true meaning of mistletoe, he wanted nothing more to put his plan into action. But it's kind of hard when Zoro keeps getting in the way. So what if things between them are changing? He's still a man for the ladies! ...mostly.
> 
> But maybe some changes are inevitable.

Sanji sat with the others on the lawn deck, idly smoking as he watched Usopp set up his easel and adjusted the giant notepad on it. The top page had the words ‘A Very Straw Hat Christmas’ detailed on it in fancy lettering and their jolly roger, wearing a “Santa Hat” on top of a straw one. Not too far from the sheltered bay they were anchored in, Christmas Town sat, colored lights winking softly in the growing dusk. 

“Now,” Usopp said, putting his hands on his hips and eying his audience that was watching him back with varying levels of interest. None could be more interested than the two shitty idiots sitting right in front of him, their captain and doctor respectively, sitting straight and attentive.

“Since this is our very first Holiday together, we’ve got to make it the best,” the long nosed man continued. “These traditions have to be set to continue year after year, and will be the cornerstone of our legacy!” 

Sanji snorted softly. He didn’t know about all that. But he agreed they had to have some great damn holiday to kick it all off… Especially since Luffy wouldn’t have it any other way. He prepared his own smaller notepad, resting on his knee as he sat on the tree bench, his eye momentarily caught and dazzled by the beautiful Nami who had moved to bring a coffee cup to her lips. Grace in shitty motion. He wanted to dance over to her and offer to refill it with coffee and his love— but she still had a full cup and right now this was more important—by a very slim margin. 

“First on the list!” Usopp flipped over the big page and whacked his pointer against the notepad. “Gingerbread Houses.” 

“What’s that?” Chopper asked, raising a hoof. 

“Houses made of gingerbread,” Usopp said, and then under his breath: “And candy.” 

“Candy?!” Chopper and Luffy said in the same shitty tone, seeming to sparkle at the notion. 

“Yes, but not for eating,” Usopp said, shaking his pointer at them. They slumped immediately and he sighed and then straightened again. “At least not until after the holiday.”

 

“Wahoo! Let’s make a million of them!” Luffy said, immediately perking. “Can we make some out of meat?!” 

“No,” Sanji said before Usopp could even open his mouth. At his Captain’s pout, he added: “If it’s going to sit out forever, it will go bad.” Since this shitty holiday would likely last until Luffy grew bored with it and who knew how long that would be? “And you won’t get to eat it right away either,” he added. That did it. 

“I changed my mind,” Luffy said. “I want to eat my houses right away.” 

Well that sort of did it. Sanji scribbled down to make Luffy a meat hut out of bacon or something so that he’d be satisfied. 

“They’re gingerbread houses anyway,” Usopp said. “To that end, I’ve made a mockup of the diorama.” 

There was a shitty diorama now? Usopp flipped the page and there was a kind of quaint gingerbread village, colored with lights. It was littered with about twenty houses, with an extra one on the hill, and a mansion besides.It was a hell of a lot of gingerbread to make, not to mention the extras. Sanji did a quick run up of the expected cost of that in his head and wrote it down for Nami who was keeping an eye on this budget. No way in hell was it coming out of Sanji’s food budget, holiday or not. Not for things that he wasn’t sure even really counted as food. When he was done, he tore the slip of paper off and handed it to her. She reached for it without even looking which just showed how simpatico they were, his sweet mellorine love~~

“Hey! I know that place!” Luffy said with a laugh. “It’s Syrup right?” 

“Well spotted!” Usopp said, swinging the pointer at Luffy. “As Master builder I will be in charge of the mansion and this little house here.” He pointed to the one on the hill. “But I’ve assigned everyone their own house and detailed instructions.” 

“You get two,” Nami said, handing the paper back. Sanji redid the list in deference to her commands. 

“Two?” Usopp said. “I can’t even include the village!” 

“Get the rest yourself, then,” she said, so beautiful even when she was very understandably stingy. Not that they were low on funds or anything but she was a gorgeous genius in holding on to what they have.

“Two is enough,” Usopp muttered. 

“We’ll make them the best two!” Chopper said. “And then eat them all up!” 

“Yeah!” Luffy added enthusiastically. 

“After the holiday, you bastards!” Usopp said, wiggling the pointer at them. “Santa will know if you screw up. I’ve got his ear, you know! Ever since I was twelve.” 

“Really?!” they said, shining with eagerness. Usopp went off into his spiel and Sanji’s attention drifted. He’d already planned most of the shitty menu already and knew more or less what he needed. The less was because he wasn’t sure what kind of fresh ingredients the town had yet. There was only going to be one shitty feast, though, no matter how much Usopp had proclaimed there’d be twenty-five days of this. Sanji sincerely doubted it would go much longer than two before they burned themselves out or got interested in something new. 

He sat back and looked at the others. Franky was tinkering with some kind of motor or whatever on the deck with a full bottle of soda next to him. Brook riffling through some sheet music, his tea still steaming but he’d probably need a shitty refill soon. The delightfully beautiful Robin-chwan was listening attentively to what Usopp was talking about, arms crossed over her closed book and with a faint smile on her gorgeously mysterious face. She had eggnog, specially made, and he couldn’t see the level of it, but he knew she drank that sort of thing slowly so wasn’t concerned with it. 

And then there was the meatheaded green haired gorilla named Zoro who was zonked out as usual, leaning against the railing. But… not quite asleep after all, Sanji realized the more he watched him. He was breathing deeply, but not snoring, and there was a certain shitty tension that meant he was holding himself rather than slouching in true sleep. Ever since that time when certain things had escalated far beyond any shitty point that Sanji had expected—he’d learned Zoro’s tells. When he was asleep. When he was listening. Even the train of his gorilla thoughts, slow as they could be. He blew a long stream of smoke at the man’s direction, but was too far away to effect him. The worst part of it was, he was starting to get comfortable with the whole shitty thing. It wasn’t that bad, but on the other hand, some things were bound to start changing soon. 

Eh, he’d deal with it when it came. 

“Mistletoe,” Usopp said, slapping the paper and drawing Sanji’s attention again. He knew about it, of course. It was used as a garnish in winter feasts but—

“That’s poisonous,” Chopper said, a hint of worry in his voice. “The berries look pretty but you can’t eat them.” 

That exactly. And also why he wouldn’t use it as a garnish because he didn’t trust some rubberheaded moron not to swallow it part and parcel with whatever he was shoving down his stretchy gullet. …Though actually now that he thought about it… 

“Isn’t there a legend associated with that?” Sanji asked. 

“Exactly, Sanji-chan,” Usopp said, swishing the pointer at him. “Point for you.” 

“Way to go, Sanji-chan!” Luffy crowed. 

“Do you know the story, Sanji-chan?” Chopper asked, eyes sparkling. 

“Keep your shitty point!” Sanji snapped. The next asshole that called him Sanji-chan was getting concassed, unless it was one of the ladies (who of course could call him whatever they wanted) and Chopper, he guessed. “I just know that there’s something, but I don’t know what it is.” 

“There are several, in fact,” Robin, the goddess of all wisdom said. “Most of them end in horrible death and tragedy.” Uwaah. She was beautiful even when she was being dark!   
“Yeah, well this one isn’t,” Usopp said flatly. “The story actually happened in the time of my three time Great Grandfather, who was also named Usopp…” It was the typical, but shitty enchanting story, about young lovers separated by their feuding families, finding romance in solitude.

He imagined himself as the handsome and yet tragic young man who was pining for Nami…or perhaps Robin~ Or even Vivi~~ So many decisions so little time. Perhaps all three longed for a kiss from him. That was fine! He would make sure they were all completely satisfied~~! Leave it to your prince~~! 

Eventually the lovers had to run, and embraced under an oak tree, bristling with mistletoe. The tree took pity on them and as the lovers embraced (uhuhuhu) and kissed in gratitude and love, the berries blushed red. 

“That’s why,” Usopp said. “If you ever meet under a mistletoe, you must kiss, otherwise a curse will fall upon you.” 

He was pretty sure Usopp was making that last part up, and was about to say so—when his thoughts came to a screeching halt. Wait. Just wait a shitty second.   
“Have to kiss?” he said, oh so casually, staring at Usopp hard. 

“Of course! It’s a tradition—” 

“What a wonderful berry!” 

For a split second, Sanji thought he’d spoken his thought aloud when he realized it wasn’t him that said it. He shot a poisonous glance at Brook. 

“What are you thinking, you shitty perverted skeleton?” 

“Ah, not a thing,” Brook said, sipping his tea and looking steadily away from him despite not having any shitty eyes. 

“You’re the last one to call anyone that,” Usopp muttered. Sanji pointedly ignored him. 

“Moving on,” Usopp said, flipping the page and thwapping his pointer. “Tanuki.” 

“Reindeer, damnit!” Chopper snapped. 

Sanji tuned him out again. Aside from the meal, he had shit to plan.

*.*.*.*.

The first phase of his plan, of course, was getting some shitty mistletoe to begin with. That required going into town and, since he had a feast to get on with tomorrow, it went hand in hand. Sanji hummed happily as he stood in the marketplace and looked over his shopping list. It didn’t hurt that the market itself was bustling with color and shitty cheer. Happy music rolled out of the Den Den Mushi set above various intervals and there were plenty of gorgeous rosy cheeked women in fancy clothes that winked or giggled at him through the drifting snow.

Ah his heart! 

Truly this was a place where an uncareful man could lose himself in bliss! 

Or lose himself because he was an idiot, Sanji thought to himself, looking over reflexively at Zoro who was his chosen companion for this shopping trip. Everyone else was preparing and not sitting like a lazy log on the lawn deck. Also, Sanji needed a hell of a lot of groceries and the marimo was usually fine with helping as long as he got to work his shitty muscles at the same time. Right now he was looking around with a disaffected air, one hand stuffed in his pocket and the other wrapped around a shitty sake bottle. Other than that, he looked like he blended right in, with his green hair and nose tinged slightly red from cold. The colored lights winking behind him gave him a kind of hazy glow, as if this was a kind of shitty sentimental moment that would stay with Sanji for years. 

Zoro’s dark eyes met his and he raised an eyebrow. 

“What?” he said. 

“I’m just wondering how lost you’ll get,” Sanji said, because he wasn’t just gawking at Zoro and he’d kick anyone’s ass who said otherwise. “So stay with me. I’m not going to look for you all over the shitty place.”

“It’s just one street, only an idiot could get lost here.” 

“Like I said, stay with me,” Sanji said, wanting to say more but spotting what he needed just across the way. A whole barrel of mistletoe. What a beautiful shitty sight.   
“Oi,” Zoro said. Then louder: “Oi, you want to say that again?”

“Just forget it, shithead,” Sanji said, distracted with planning as he looked down at the barrel of green. He couldn’t go shitty overboard here. It would look like he was trying to hard, plus his pocket money was getting on the low side and unless they hit a shitty haul between here and the next island, Nami wouldn’t be too happy to splurge again. So, let him see— one for every room on the ship? No…probably not. But the galley… yes strung all over the galley and then no lady could escape. It was just a pity there were only two. Maybe he should buy some chapstick so his lips were nice and soft for them. Huehuehue

“Your face got disturbing just now, pervy prince.” 

Sanji narrowed his eyes at Zoro’s annoying (addicting) baritone, popping his fantasy bubble of hearts and flowers and soft lips. 

“Go to hell,” he growled. Zoro smirked and shrugged. 

“If you say so.” And started wandering off. 

“Get back here, marimo bastard!” Sanji snapped, grabbing his sleeve and hauling him back to the stand. No way in hell was he letting this punk out of his sights. He wasn’t about to let his muscle get away. 

“Oi, shop keep!” he called to the balding old man behind a counter, though tried to keep his annoyance out of his voice since the shitty old guy didn’t deserve it. 

“Yes, can I help you?” said an entirely different voice, one made of angel wings and sunlit days. Sanji turned and his heart fluttered as she came up to him. A redhead with bells in her pretty coiled hair, wearing gorgeous green and white with tiny little white gloves lined with fur. Ahh~ It was a Christmas Love Story~~

“I’d like some mistletoe, please~” And you by my side, he only just kept himself from saying. But did because he still needed to be feast shopping. Not for Luffy and the others. They could go to hell. But his sweet Nami-swan and dear Robin-chwan would be expecting it and he couldn’t let them down. 

“Certainly, sir,” she said and opened a little bag. There was something glittery on her lips and his heart soared with the noticing of it. But she had asked him something. Shit. What was it? What had she said? Oh right--

“I’ll take fifty,” he said with a goofy smile. 

“Fifty?” she laughed, tilting her head back, the bells in her hair chiming and stealing his shitty heart with them. He would take a hundred to make her laugh again. Two hundred. A thousand~! 

“You must be hatching an evil plot,” she said, tucking the mistletoe into a red glittery bag, a corner of her mouth dimpling as she smiled. 

“Au contraire, mademoiselle,” he said, a hand over his heart. “It’s a plot of love.” Zoro snorted but he ignored it, then got an idea. A wonderful horrible idea that probably marked him as a bad man, but a man after love was reckless and free. “And one of them is for you, miss,” he said, holding up a mistletoe for her with his most charming smile. She laughed softly. 

“I think you’re spoken for,” she said, looking up. Sanji glanced up and saw the mistletoe over his head. Spoken for— did she mean—?

“Na—” 

Zoro. 

Standing right there. 

Smirking. 

Shit. 

_Shit._

“Don’t you da—” 

He wanted to say the kiss took him by surprise, but it didn’t— though it still managed to take his breath as Zoro’s mouth fitted over his and the large hand rested on the small of his back. There was tongue in there, too, bastard. Shit. Fuck. Not in front of the pretty lady! He wedged a hand against Zoro’s stomach and pushed him away.   
“Knock it off,” he gasped. “The hell are you doing?” 

“It’s a tradition,” he said. Sanji wanted to kick the superior smirk right off his face. But then the angel in red and green was handing the bag back to him and holding out her petite hand for money. He paid her and she smiled. 

“Happy Holidays,” she said with a wink before heading back into the shop. She had taken one of the mistletoe, though, he noticed with satisfaction.   
“Same to you!” he called after her, finding himself annoyingly short of breath. 

Well, never mind. He would load Zoro down with so many damn groceries, the only thing he would be able to see to kiss would be a paper bag. He kept the mistletoe himself, starting for the shitty vegetable stand with Zoro trailing behind him. The vegetables left much to be desired, but there was a selection of winter celery across the way that he’d like to take a closer look at. 

“Excuse me,” he said, flagging down the man who owned the stall and was chatting with his neighbor. “What are hurk—” The breath was driven out of him this time by a big meaty hand around his waist, pulling him back against an annoyingly larger (but only by an inch goddamnit) frame. 

“Marimo, what—?!” Sanji started. Zoro raised his eyes upward breifly and Sanji groaned as he saw the mistletoe hanging above the awning. Before he could even make a token protest, Zoro planted another one on him, deeper this time, nipping at Sanji’s lip after the fact which made him twitch in a not unpleasant way.   
But that did not stop Sanji from glowering at the lug when he was finally let go. He was faintly aware of the shopkeeper watching them amused and if Sanji didn’t want winter celery so bad he would tell him to go hell. Zoro grinned. His teeth flashing hard and white. 

“I like this place.” 

“Shut up,” Sanji said, squirming away and purchasing his supplies while the smug asshole grinned at the back of his neck. He would just have to be hyper aware of that shitty mistletoe from now on. He was not letting that big green bastard get him again.

*.*.*.*.

Sanji put his hands on his hips and regarded the single mistletoe hung over the door of the galley. Fifty was a bit shitty excessive—especially with a handsy marimo on-board. But one, hanging in a strategic place would probably be more effective than a million of them. Yes. This would do. He took the cigarette from his mouth and held it out his side so he could take a sniff of the stew bubbling on the stove. It needed a bit more time.

That decided he pulled the stick of chapstick out of his pocket and eyed it dubiously. The owner of that shop, an old man with missing teeth and a familiar leer that Sanji recognized, said that this would be the best to care for the ladies who would fall under the sway of the mistletoe. It looked like shitty lipstick to him. He uncapped it, finding it had a very light fruity scent, then dabbed some on his bare arm. Finding that it left no color, he applied it to his lips, trying not to imagine what the shitty old man or any of those assholes at the Baratie would say if they saw him do this. It was for the ladies. 

The ladies.

He had to be prepared.

Especially since Robin-chwan would be coming in for her coffee at any moment now.

The door swung open and Sanji started forward. 

“Your prince is—! Shit.” 

“Yohohoho Sanji-san! Something smells delicious. Can I have a snack?” Brook said, then bent his head down. “Did I come at a bad time?”   
Sanji wondered what he meant by that, then remembered the shitty chapstick and stuffed it into his pocket. 

“Forget it,” he said, trying to keep the heat from his face. “I’ll bring you something. Now get lost before—” 

“Oohhh Brook and Sanji are under the mistletoe,” Luffy said from the side. Shitty piece of rubber. Sanji was going to kick him to the moon. 

“Ah?” Brook shifted back as if to look. “I like you very much, Sanji-san, but I’m not interested.” 

“I’m not interested in you either, shitty skeleton!” Sanji snapped. 

“Are you saying that just because I’m bone? I have feelings, too, you know, even if I'm all bone!” 

“I’m saying it because you’re a man!” 

“But you’ve got to,” Chopper said. “It’s tradition!” 

“Yeah, it’s tradition,” Luffy said.

“If you don’t, you’ll invoke the curse,” Usopp said, just close enough so that Sanji could see his smirk. 

“There is no shitty curse! You kiss him if you want to so bad!” 

“Is it because of my teeth? I assure you they’re as soft and pliable as teeth can be. Except that you’re a guy! This is not at all what I wanted!” 

“I don’t want it either!” Sanji said, trying his best to think about soft shitty pliable teeth. 

“You guys are too damn noisy,” came that annoying baritone. Oh no. “I’ll take care of it if you’ll all just shut up.” 

“You’re so noble,” Brook was saying, edging carefully out of the way, then leaning down. “I want to make it known that this is not my decision.” 

“I wasn’t talking about you!” Zoro snapped and Brook went on his hands and knees, gloom radiating from him. 

“Zoro-san…so harsh…” 

“I’ll do it,” Chopper said. “Not on the teeth, though.” 

“I’d be honored,” Brook said, sitting up. Sanji breathed out, feeling less like a shitheel. Though why he should have felt like it in the beginning when it was obvious that he didn’t hang up the shitty mistletoe to—

Oh wait Zoro was still here. Shit. 

In about two seconds, the door was closed and Sanji was pressed against it and Zoro against him. Oi! Damnit. Sanji squirmed, distracted by the movement of Zoro’s mouth, and those big hands trying to pull his shirt out of his pants. He had it in there for a reason and it wasn’t for Zoro to pull. Besides which, once Zoro got under there, Sanji would never get him out again. So he distracted Zoro in his own way by biting his lower lip hard, but the green haired idiot just grunted and pressed harder and there was a hand on his ass.   
“I’ve got food to cook, you damn horny gorilla,” Sanji hissed, pulling back and pushing Zoro’s hand away. “Let go.” 

Zoro did, reluctantly, then grinned. 

“Hey, fruity lips. Booze.” 

Sanji opened the door and kicked him out of the galley. 

“You’ve certainly grown closer,” Robin said— from behind him, smiling at him over her coffee cup. How had she gotten in? Probably from the medical bay. It was such a beautifully smart and sneaky move that he couldn’t help but be impressed, though it was hard to be much more than that when he felt he’d gotten as red as a shitty cherry tomato. 

“Don’t worry, Robin-chwan, it’s just a phase. My lips are primarily” if not exclusively anymore damnit “for the ladies.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose.” 

Impose, he wanted to say, and to go through the whole hip wiggling, loving spiel, but he was feeling a bit unwound and the stew needed to be put on low heat. Sanji jabbed his cigarette back into his mouth, relit it, took down the shitty thing so there were no more horrible surprises, and went back to the stove. He was not going to let that jerk under his guard again. He’d figure out a way somehow.

*.*.*.*.

The problem was, Sanji reflected, that evening as he was absently monitoring Usopp’s progression of the dinner dishes, was that he needed something a bit more mobile. There were too many shitty men on this ship for him to leave it to fate. That had been a mistake. So what he had to do was hold it over his head. That was easy. In fact, Nami’s evening tea was sitting on the stove and it would be the perfect time to enact his plan. He wouldn’t press, of course. He was a shitty gentleman.

But what if she demurred, blushing prettily? Would his beauteous Nami-swan do that? Could she do that? A demure wasn’t a rejection, wasn’t it? He would have to make sure his lips were extra shitty pliable before leaning in to capture that blissful moment of forever love!

“You know my Mom always said if you don’t watch out your face will freeze like that,” Usopp said, and then after a beat. “It happened to me once.” 

“It’s an expression of love,” Sanji grumbled, pouring the hot water over Nami’s tea and letting it steep before adding a dollop of honey. Sweets for the sweet. 

“I’ll be right back,” he said, taking the teacup. He made sure he had the mistletoe in his pocket before starting out. Night had fallen and the snow had cleared, leaving a thin film on the deck that was littered with tiny snowmen and strawhatted snow angels. Nami was leaning against the railing, breath frosting in the air as she watched Luffy and Chopper pelt one another with tiny snowballs. 

“Tea for you,” he said, presenting it to her with a flourish. She smiled. 

“Thank you, Sanji-kun,” she said. 

“And something more.” He held the mistletoe in the air, smiling suavely. Here it was. His chance. Nami looked up at it, looked at him. There was a surprised squawk from somewhere behind him and then a shadow fell over him. His eye narrowed. There was no way it was going to be—

“Trade you,” Zoro said, and Sanji turned to see that he was holding up Luffy by the back of the vest.

“Sure,” Nami said casually. 

No! Cold filled his heart. Nami-swan!

Nami-swaaaan! 

He could kiss so much better than their shitty captain!

“I guess it’s okay,” Luffy said. “Do you have pliable teeth too, Nami?” 

“Don’t ask such shitty weird questions! Everything about Nami-swan is pliable,” Sanji said, even as he was being dragged away because Roronoa Zoro was a goddamn barbarian. He struggled to get away. To prevent the horrible thing that was going to happen to his dear beloved Nami-swan! He would save her! 

"Don't say such weird things," was all Nami said, showing once again how alike they were. But she made no move to push him away, just watched him. Sanji bit at his tie. Luffy regarded Nami for a moment, then tilted his hat back and kissed her lightly on the cheek. A rare ungarded smile crossed her face. It was sweet and beautiful and Sanji stopped fighting. It wasn’t even in him to protest against such a shitty soft moment. 

He couldn’t even protest as he ended up in the empty med bay and was once again pressed against a wall, because the green haired lunkhead had the imagination of a small fish. 

This is the last time you’re going to do this, you know, shithead,” Sanji muttered in between heated lingering kisses, this time letting Zoro pull his shirt up because what the hell. He groped behind him and locked the door before pushing back against Zoro, using the leverage and strength of his hips to get Zoro and himself away from the wall and more toward the bed. Zoro grunted and pulled his own shirt off before attacking Sanji’s mouth again. 

“I like it.” 

“Course you do.” And he didn’t mind it half as much as he should.

“I’m going to miss it,” Zoro said in a lower voice. It sounded— There was something about that— Was— Could it be that he—

“Zoro…” Sanji started, resting a hand on Zoro’s neck, feeling the heat and strength there, the beating of his pulse under the crease of his hand.

“See if you can keep up, love cook,” was all Zoro said, and those big rough fingers were working the buttons of his shirt. Sanji let him. And kept up, as it happened. Kept up and then some so that it was a little difficult to keep what they were doing from the whole ship, but somehow they managed it. 

A little later on when they were both sweating and trying not to breathe too hard, Zoro hung onto him. Just, hung on. Not petting or kissing but just with his hands folded over Sanji’s stomach. There was a moment of deep silence. Silence and a kind of understanding. Sanji realized with a soft sigh that some shitty things were going to have to start changing. And really…it was about damn time.

*.*.*.*.

The next day was full of shitty preparation. Everyone was more cheerful than usual as they decorated, played in snow, or sang snatches of songs lead by Brook. A particular favorite refrain was, typically:

“Deck the halls with lots of meat!  
Yohohoho ho hoho ho ho.” 

It was repetitive as shit, but Sanji found himself humming along more than once, and didn’t really mind it. It wasn’t hard to mentally replace ‘lots of meat’ with ‘mellorines’, after all. And, even if some things were going to change, many things decidedly were not. 

He planned throughout the day in bits and snatches of free time, and finally got a bit of shitty, if intentional revenge in the middle of the feast when Luffy, in a rare bout of sitting back to actually digest his food, made a face and picked up a piece of mistletoe. 

“Hey, Usopp, look another one,” Luffy said. There was a pregnant pause as Usopp stared at it, eyes bulging. “Don’t we gotta do something?” 

“Hahaha w-well—” Usopp said. 

“Yohoho, what a scandal!” Brook said in the background, clapping his bony fingers to his cheeks. 

“It’s tradition,” Luffy said with a frown. 

“Wouldn’t want to set off the shitty curse, after all,” Sanji said, lighting a cigarette and smirking. Chopper jolted up at this, looking worried.

“Wh-what kind of curse?” the young reindeer said. 

“Who knows?” Robin said darkly, a smirk playing about her lips. “Maybe spiders will come and lay eggs in your ears.” 

Sanji couldn’t help but cringe at that mental image. Even when she was— No— No that was more cringe worthy than he could really go with.   
“Well you know it doesn’t have to be a —” Usopp started but Chopper popped into heavy point and pushed their heads together.

“Kiss, damnit! Before it’s too late!” 

“No wait!” Usopp squawked. Luffy flailed himself and accidentally kicked the table nearly knocking it over. 

“Shit! Damnit, Luffy!” Sanji snapped, scrambling trying to save the food from the floor and the ladies’ laps. The guys could eat it where it damn well landed for all he cared. He never managed to see what happened because by the time he got everything back in its place, Luffy and Usopp had settled with a worried looking Chopper between them. Sanji huffed and lit a cigarette. 

Nami sighed and fixed Sanji with a weary look. 

“No more mistletoe, okay?” she said. 

“Sorry, Nami-san,” he replied, smiling sheepishly. 

“Yeah get rid of ‘em,” Franky said. “They are a suuper pain in the ass.” Sanji was glad that Nami spoke first or he would have got into Franky’s face just on principle. Even though he was right. Too many shitty men on this ship, that was the problem. 

“Are they really?” Robin said, glancing Franky’s way. The cyborg cleared his throat and chugged his soda and Sanji got a glimmer that things had happened that he really didn’t want to know about because he was emotionally strung out as it was at all the missed opportunities. 

The rest of dinner went off without a hitch and Sanji made Zoro stay after to help wash up instead of going to snooze like he usually did before a watch. He probably wouldn’t have to snooze if he didn’t lift shitty weights all night, but that was what muscles in the brain do to you. 

“So that was Christmas, huh?” Zoro said. 

“Like it, Marimo?” 

He shrugged and took the plate Sanji had handed him to dry.

“Has booze.” 

“Everything can have shitty booze. It’s not what makes it special.” There was just no shitty romance in his soul. That was all. 

“Has you,” Zoro said, which was completely unfair and Sanji would have kicked the shit out of him for that low blow if he didn’t have to turn away to hide the heat in his cheeks.   
“Asshole,” he muttered, but Zoro just chuckled. Sanji washed the last dish, handed it over, and knew it was now or never. Most of the mistletoe was going to be turned into mulch for Robin’s garden and Nami’s trees. Food was food, even if it wasn’t for things with mouths. But there was one left out for now. A special one. He huffed a breath, smoked down a cigarette, applied the shitty chapstick just so Zoro could mock him about it later, the bastard, then turned. 

“Oi,” he said, and when Zoro turned, held it over his head. Zoro looked at it, looked at him. Then his mouth opened but no sound came out. His hands flexed and he swallowed, rubbing the back of his neck. Could it be the great Roronoa Zoro was bashful about this stuff if he wasn’t the one initiating it? Sanji fought to hide the grin. In that case, this was going to be fun. 

But not tonight. Not right now. Right now it was just about a simple gift. 

“Come here, marimo,” he said, twisting his hand into Zoro’ s shirt and pulling the man in for a kiss. It was light and soft and warm and smelled fruity, but who cared about that last part. For right now it was only them, warm and together— and for right now that was all there needed to be.


	3. Zoro, It's Cold Outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Usopp hopes that one day Zoro will get it through his thick head that winter training is not the best idea. Today is not that day. But Usopp can at least give him a little direction, a little fire, and begrudgingly share his coat. Two years have passed, after all, and there are some things that still need to be said. 
> 
> Usopp+Zoro nakamaship

Usopp had always been told, and found it reasonable to assume, that (barring the machinations of a certain weather witch) lighting never struck in the same place twice. Yet here they were. Zoro shirtless and bootless in the midst of a winter training session that had gone seriously awry. On top of this déjà vu situation, they were lost (Zoro’s fault), slightly injured (also Zoro’s fault) and maybe considered evil snow spirits by the locals who were therefore not inclined to help. (Maybe somewhat Usopp’s fault, but Zoro’s scowl as he slowly, supposedly, froze to death, hadn’t helped that impression along any.) 

“Just one shoe,” Zoro said for the third or fourth time, chafing his arms as they trudged through the ankle deep snow.

“No,” Usopp said flatly. They came up on a ridge and he shielded his eyes from the sun. He could see the sea from here, but it was miles away, and no Sunny in sight. Damn. 

“How about a sock?” Zoro asked. 

“No. Look, why did you come out here like this if you were just going to freeze your ass off?” 

“Winter training,” Usopp answered himself at about the same time as Zoro said it. The green haired, blue faced man glared at him, an effect somewhat dampened by the long string of snot hanging from his nose and the chattering teeth. 

Usopp felt bad for him, but if he let Zoro have his coat, _he’d_ be cold. Freezing probably. And, even though he was plenty tough now and could probably survive a raging blizzard in swim trunks if he really thought hard about it, common sense told him that Zoro could last this chill far longer than he could. And if he couldn’t and Usopp had to drag him (bravely battling the elements and wild wolves… 

…on second thought no. Best not tempt fate. Just snow was enough) then at least he could be sure they were heading in the right direction and not just ambling in large circles until they both became icicles. 

“I think you need to rethink this training of yours,” Usopp said. Zoro made a grumbling noise that could be yes or no and shuddered as a cold wind blew, hunching his shoulders against it. Usopp was getting cold just looking at him. 

He put his gloved hands on his hips and huffed a breath, debating whether to share for just a little while, when he spotted a log house in the distance. He squinted at it, but seeing no danger in the vicinity, waded in that direction, checking over his shoulder every once in a while to see if the idiot hadn’t wandered off somewhere. 

When they got to the house, Usopp found himself disappointed. He’d entertained some thoughts of a kindly old person of any gender, a hot cup of cocoa or coffee or soup and a willing ear to brave tales— or even just a way to send a message into town— or hell, even directions into town. But the place was abandoned and had been for a while, one of the windows shattered and snow piled inside. Still— 

“Let’s go in and light a fire before your arms start falling off.” Because he didn’t want to face Chopper’s wrath should that happen. “On the other hand, maybe Franky could make you some new ones.” 

“D-don’t want c-cola p-powered a-anything,” Zoro said. Usopp had the feeling that he was even more cold than Usopp suspected… Which probably meant that he was standing up by sheer will alone. Probably should get him warmed up and fast, the sensible albeit somewhat panicked side of him said. Usopp pushed at the door. But there was a snow drift or something against it so it wouldn’t budge very far. Damn. 

“Zoro,” Usopp said, stepping back and gesturing to it. He nodded with satisfaction as Zoro set his shoulder, the size of a small whale, against the door and shoved. Stuff moved against the wooden floor and the wood creaked, but fortunately didn’t splinter. He got it wide enough so that they both could slip in and then Usopp closed the door behind him with both hands, casting them both in gloom. 

The place had been abandoned too long ago to be really that useful. Even animals had stopped using this place or found better ones, but he saw old nests of varying kinds. Some spiders tucked into the shadows, too, but he didn’t think Zoro was afraid of them so it didn’t matter. He had been hoping to find a ragged blanket or something but no such luck.   
“It’s not too bad,” Usopp said, probably one of his bigger lies. Zoro just stood in the middle of it, looking miserable. Usopp sighed long. The things he did for his nakama. Honestly. He pulled the strap of his satchel over his head and set it on the floor, before unbuttoning his coat and draping it over Zoro’s shoulders. 

“Don’t get comfortable,” he said in the sudden chill. “As soon as I get this fire up we’re going to share.” Because no way in hell was he completely giving up his coat. The fire itself took longer to start than he’d planned since he decided to check the chimney flue with an old broom handle to see if there were any animals in there who’d decided to find their own shelter from the winter wind. The poking revealed nothing more than a crumbled bird nest and Usopp thought of making a joke about marimo being stuck up in there… But that was more Sanji’s thing than his, and even then— man, he just couldn’t joke about that time. Not even Chopper had laughed when he’d recounted the story, despite the ridiculousness of it…but Usopp hadn’t really felt like laughing either. (Then or now) 

By the time he got a small fire going, he was shaking from the cold but he had to crouch there and feed it so it wouldn’t go out. Zoro sat beside him. 

“I’ll help,” Zoro said. “Come on.” And he gestured at the coat. Usopp was grateful. He sat, too, though there was only so much broad shoulders of manliness that one coat could contain so he ended up having to squeeze pretty close to Zoro in order to get warm. Still it wasn’t so bad as they fed the fire together with twigs, nests and bits of old flooring. 

“You know,” said Usopp after a while. “This reminds me of a blanket story.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Two people, usually a guy and a girl who fight all the time, or are enemies or something, get caught in a blizzard and end up in a cave or shelter with only one blanket that they have to share.” 

“And then what?” Zoro asked. Usopp hesitated. Oddly, he’d heard about the kind of story when he was a kid, but never what happened in it. Really he’d been too caught up in the idea of two brave and intrepid souls fighting a raging blizzard and an assortment of beasts…(Starring him and mother when he was really little, but then him and mother and his pirates, him and his pirates… and then once or twice him and Kaya…. Those, he remembered, had fewer beasts and a little more blanket time) 

But Zoro was still apparently waiting for a ‘then what’. Or at least it seemed so. His face was impassive and seemed more like granite than ever, especially with that (simultaneously cool and cringe worthy) scar running down his eye. Either way, Zoro had asked, so Usopp had to provide a satisfactory answer. 

“Then… then they fought, proving their strength to one another— discovered that they both were worthy of each other’s time and attention, and shared the blanket like sensible people.” With some cuddling, he didn’t add, as he wasn’t sure where Zoro stood on the whole cuddling issue. Also he really didn’t want to bring it into the equation when they were both sharing the same coat, because then it would get awkward and awkward was cold. 

“Not bad,” Zoro said. It wasn’t much praise, but it wasn’t much of a story. Then again, he thought Zoro appreciated the idea more than anything else. If it were Sanji here with him, Usopp would spin it into an elaborate love story that would keep them entertained for hours. Luffy and Chopper, an adventure. Franky an adventure too, with lots of cool gadgetry thrown in and stuff blowing up. Robin something spooky and mysterious, in a large part to stave off comments of: ‘I hope they don’t find us frozen to death’. Brook— maybe a romance, but ultimately a happy ending with a lot of people. Nami…

Well, Nami it depended. First of all they wouldn’t be in this situation unless they had no choice. But if they were, he guessed, something warm and just dangerous enough not to get too uncomfortable— maybe not a romance but something leaning toward closer bonds than not, and with a stockpile of treasure at the end.   
Zoro, though, seemed okay with just an outline. 

Usopp sat back,the fire hot enough now, and took off his gloves with his teeth to feel the heat of the fire bake against his palms. 

Zoro, next to him, did the same thing, blowing into his hands and rubbing them together before holding them before the fire. Usopp watched him out of the corner of his eye. Now that he was thinking of stories, it occurred to him there was a lot about Zoro’s he just didn’t know. He knew Sanji’s story, parts of which he’d seen (though only barely remembered because the Merry had been foremost on his mind at the time), Nami’s he knew really well and most of their other nakama who had come after. He even knew bits of Luffy’s— though mostly only in relation to Ace and that wound that was probably still painful even though it had been two years. But Zoro? 

Where had he come from really? Somewhere in the East Blue, yeah, but where? And why did he become a bounty hunter to begin with? To be honest, those were only faint questions, though. Mild curiosity. Usopp’s real questions were focused on what had happened since. Zoro had changed from the one who struggled with all of them in Sabody.

Zoro struggling. 

_Zoro._

It was still mind boggling even now to think back on that time. He could still feel the impressive weight of Zoro on his back as he ran, terrified from Kuma— who had been their friend somehow? And who couldn’t stand up to them now, even if he were… well whatever happened to him anyway. 

The point was that Zoro had changed. Gotten bigger and stronger, yeah, but seemed more serious at times, more hardcore, more stupidly reckless—but with more stupidly reckless power to back that up. And then there was that eye. As if Zoro needed more scars. He’d thought maybe there was something devastatingly cool under it, like a demon eye or something…which was why Zoro didn’t wear an eye-patch. (and it was easier to think about somehow than the lack of an eye. A damaged place or even a hollow place. A piece of Zoro gone missing. A visible sacrifice. Sort of like the x-shaped scar on their captain’s chest.) 

“So what’s the deal with that?” Usopp asked, gesturing at vaguely at Zoro’s face and trying to sound casual. “How did it happen?” 

“Training,” Zoro said with a shrug. (Well a faint juggle of movement that upset the coat and Usopp had to tug it back into place) Usopp couldn’t tell if the man was brushing him off or not. Though with Zoro it really could be training. Usopp had seen the way he trained. He was about to ask when Zoro smirked: 

“What’s the deal with _this_?” Zoro said, poking him in the arm. “You’re not a noodle anymore.” 

Usopp was for a moment caught between manly pride at his current physique and rampant defense of his one time _potential_. There was nothing noodly about _potential_. Current pride won out, however, and he let the coat fall away from his free shoulder to pull back his sleeve and give his arm a flex. 

“Pretty great, huh?” he said, admiring the curves and bends and freaking steel tucked in his muscles. (that were nowhere near the diamond plating of Zoro’s but hey, he was only human) Sometimes he was still surprised to see them in the morning or in the shower. Even if he’d trained and sweated and nearly got eaten uncountable times for these guns, some small young (okay, somewhat noodly) part of Usopp wondered if there’d been some weird mix up—or that he’d inadvertently won the muscle lottery. 

“I fought endlessly for these things.” The things that were getting cold. He slid his sleeve back down and tucked it under the coat. “Anything that came after me, I fought it. Even things that didn’t come after me I bravely rose to the challenge of defeating everything on that screwy island!” And it didn’t take him that long for his knees to stop knocking every time. 

“Of course, it was a pretty forgone conclusion. I was going to grow these muscles before, but I didn’t want to outshine you guys. You all had your own battles to fight and it wouldn’t be right for me to take it from you,” he said in his sage voice, nodding wisely. Though really the lie slipped out of him without him meaning it to. The bolstering of his own pride, however undeserved it was. He knew it. He knew why he did it. But he wasn’t sure why he still did it. Who was he fooling really? He really just— He really just needed to— 

“Of course I had to fight my own battles, too,” he admitted, stopping himself from saying how dangerous they were and how he was the hero of them, cresting the high waves and saving everyone’s asses. It even occurred to him to say something about Sogeking instead, and how he had saved countless lives, staged daring rescues and had narrow escapes. But he swallowed that back as well. 

Maybe Luffy and Chopper could be suckered in by a story, maybe Sanji or Franky would indulge him, Brook listen politely, Nami patiently ignore him (but she did that to everyone) or Robin listen with the faint smile and a mind full of untold (and probably creepy) thoughts— but for Zoro, battle was real— and he’d never been won over by that kind of thing. He’d shut down Usopp more than once with the light thump of the hilt of a katana against his temple or…well…Usopp wasn’t going to think about the other thing. 

“You fought well,” Zoro said.

The statement dropped out of nowhere and Usopp felt his face heat. He looked at Zoro (which proved to be somewhat of a mistake because the import of the statement was slightly ruined by the trail of snot the swordsman was sucking back in his nose) but the man didn’t take his eyes from the fire. 

Usopp wanted to take the compliment and run with it. To use it to fuel a thousand and one stories about this or that or the other. And he would. And he would _prove_ those stories, too. He wasn’t just going to say them. He was going to _live up to them_. 

But right now… 

Right now he was painfully aware that no matter how far he’d come, he still had a long way to go. 

“Come on. You didn’t even see my battles,” Usopp said, chuckling, to make it a joke, to make it seem like it didn’t bug him. “How do you know? Do you have some all seeing eye tucked in there? I can see it now. Have Zoro read your future!” he waved his palm slowly in the air like mimicking the flow of words on a sign. 

“I know,” Zoro said calmly. “Because you’re here.” 

Usopp had nothing to say to that. He knew what Zoro meant. Not here as in an abandoned cabin covered in snow, but here here…by Luffy’s side here. With them here. And if not able to run beside the monster trio (and who the hell would want to? Usopp did not want to be handing Chopper his spleen by the end of the day) at least be able to keep up as he always kept up. 

“Yeah well, you know,” Usopp said, awkwardly, unable to not say anything at all. “I couldn’t let Luffy just go off by himself. He needs someone to hold him down.” Or at least shout ‘we can’t do that, are you crazy?’ in his ear as he went on his merry way and shook the world up around them all. 

“Good job with that,” Zoro said, sounding amused. “We’re not involved in anything big at all.” 

“Shut up, it’s work in progress!” And who could have predicted the total “what the hell” explosion that was the whole Punk Hazard, Dressarosa, etc etc thing.

Zoro chuckled and it was quiet again save for the crickle crackle of the fire that was dying. He would have to get more sticks soon. Everything looked wet but maybe…   
And then he heard it. A thin cry in the distance with a voice that sounded familiar. 

“Oiii!” 

Zoro heard it too, because he lifted his head and looked toward the window. Usopp stood, nobly sacrificing his coat to a greater cause and heaved open the door to step out in the snow and look around. There was a smudge of brown on the ridge that spoke of one reindeer to the rescue. Instead of bellowing oi back (Being all too keen on not getting buried in an avalanche again) Usopp waved to catch the doctor’s attention and soon he was coming down in brain point, so light barely put a dent in the ankle deep snow. 

“There you are!” Chopper said happily. “We’re looking for ZorAHHH!” It ended in a shriek as Usopp stepped to the side to reveal the Zoro within. 

“What are you doing dressed like that without shoes?! It’s too cold out here for you, stupid!”

“Winter training,” Usopp said flatly, cutting off Zoro at: 

“Wi—” He could feel the man glaring at him but who cared? Point for him. “Winter training,” Zoro said, dourly—which still didn’t negate Usopp’s point. 

“You’ll catch pneumonia! Moron! Idiot!” Chopper snapped. 

“No I won’t. I never get sick,” Zoro said and sneezed mightily, the snot that he’d tried to keep contained flying from his nose and splatting impressively on their poor fire, putting it out. Usopp made a careful record of how it looked since he was definitely going to bring that detail up later so they could all laugh at him. 

Chopper looked for a minute like every hair on his tiny body would explode at once. But then he just sighed heavily. 

“Let’s just get back to the ship,” he said. 

“Usopp, lend me a shoe,” Zoro said. 

“I already said no,” Usopp said. Complements or not, he was not sacrificing his good health for this jerk’s sake. 

“Don’t worry,” Chopper said. “I’ll take care of it.” 

 

Taking care of meant carrying Zoro on his back in walk point, and Usopp had to admit he was a little jealous. He looked pretty cool up there, perched on Chopper’s bigger furrier form.

Still… Usopp had hoped the brief but fierce wrestling match of Zoro refusing to be carried over the reindeer’s massive heavy point shoulder would end in the swordsman’s loss, but it didn’t turn out that way. But the important thing was, Zoro was out of the snow so he could stop whining about shoes… And Usopp in a show of gentlemanliness that could rival any lord or noble in existence, especially since it was so damn cold out here, had given the shirtless wonder his coat. Mostly, admittedly, because they were closer to the ship than he thought. 

It just went to show that, once again, with the help, the foresight, and the common sense of the great and powerful sniper Usopp (mad sniper Usopp? God sniper Usopp? God Usopp? No…way too much) all was right with the world. 

“You should put the coat on all the way,” Chopper said as they started off over the fresh white snow. 

“Are you kidding?” Zoro muttered. “I can’t even get my hands in the sleeves.” 

Usopp narrowed his eyes. He wanted his coat back.


	4. All I Want for Christmas Is you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin has been on dates with Franky before, so what is it about this one that makes her so nervous? Everyone seems to know something she doesn't for one thing, and she can't believe what she thinks it might be. Still, nervous or not, she won't turn down a date with Franky for the world. 
> 
> RobinxFranky

This is ridiculous. Robin clenches her faintly sweating palms together as her nerves pluck like violin strings. She doesn’t know why she’s nervous. It’s not as if she doesn’t see Franky almost every day. It’s not even as if they haven’t gone on dates before this. Many of them in fact. So why should she be nervous? She takes a deep breath and lets it out, trying to focus instead on the gentle tugs on her head as Nami brushes and twists it into a style. It’s a wonderful feeling itself. A warm feeling. To be cared for even if she, of all people perhaps, doesn’t need someone else’s assistance. She watches Nami in the mirror, the pearl ended hairpins in her mouth, eyes focused on her work as she ran the brush through Robin’s hair. She’s beautiful. Nami catches her eye and smiles warmly around the pins. 

“I hope you have fun tonight,” she says. 

“Thank you.” 

It’s a simple conversation, but they don’t need more than that. Nami takes another lock of Robin’s hair, fingernails whispering over Robin’s temple. A pleasant chill sweeps through her and she closes her eyes and indulges in the sensation as nimble fingers twist her hair into a plait. 

Low sweet violin music plays from the other room, a lovely deep Christmas Carol, rooted in centuries old tradition, reminding her of ancient cathedrals, decorated with dark green garland and a thousand candles. She threads her fingers together happily at the mental image. She’s always enjoyed this time of year, even back when she hadn’t enjoyed anything much. Aesthetically pleasing, though it was, her love went deeper. It’s the history that always got her. Christmas, Chanuka, Kwanzaa, Pagan and Neo-Pagan rituals—all swirling around one month, meeting, changing, keeping things sacred or going secular. Shopping and bright stores, bells and trees— and loneliness, too, for many… Looking in from the outside, observing, but unable to participate, living in the sterile atmosphere of just another day. 

“Which jerk just blue-shelled me?!” Usopp roars from the other room. 

“Shishishishi” 

“I should have known! That’s fine. You’re taking on the Grand Master here! Just try to shishishi when you’re eating my dust!” 

“Chopper, get out of my way,” came Zoro’s deep voice. “You’re going the wrong direction.” 

“You’re going the wrong direction!” Chopper says. “Why do you think the cloud guy is telling you to turn around?!” 

“I keep turning around and he keeps showing up.” 

“That’s because you keep going in the wrong way!” 

Luffy laughs, and then says: “Hey!” 

“Serves you shitty right for butting in front of the Princesses,” Sanji says. 

Robin giggles at the sound of their voices. The music is beautiful, but she almost prefers to hear them more than anything. It just reminds her of all she has now. Her holidays may be busy always, dangerous at times, and even slightly irritating, but they are wonderful. 

“They are so noisy,” Nami says in a breath, but Robin doesn’t think she minds. Nami pushes in the last hair pin. “There, almost done. Close your eyes.” Robin does, though even as she does she feels one of Nami’s hands against her forehead, shielding her face from the hair spray. When she is finished she steps back and says,: “Well?” 

Robin opens her eyes and turns her head from side to side. Her hair has been put up in an elaborate network of braids and pearls with coils hanging down that look effortless.   
“It’s beautiful, thank you.” Stunning actually. Robin feels—if not different—elevated somehow— but it makes her more nervous, too, as if there are feathers in her stomach. She stands, straightening out the deep green velvet dress that flashes with a sparkling design near the shoulders, coming down to a series of swirls of the neckline, A Queen Anne neckline, she thinks it’s called. Diamonds shine in her ears and on a small pendant on her neck, set with a purple stone. She takes a deep breath. Lets it out. 

“You ready?” Nami asks, a smile lighting her eyes. Robin nods. Yes. She is. As ready as she will ever be. There is a knock on the outside door that makes Robin’s nerves tangle. 

“I’ll get it!” Luffy calls. 

“No you don’t, idiot!” Sanji snaps, then. “Luffy!” and there is a terrific crash. Robin comes through the door just in time to see the blond chef sitting on Luffy’s back, holding his shoulder down with a hand. 

“Why not?” Luffy says. “I wanna see who it is.” 

“Because it’s my darling Robin’s date night, that’s why, shithead.” 

“Oh yeah,” Luffy squirms to look back at her. “Sorry, Robin. Hey, you look good!” 

“Shitty fantastique!” Sanji says, looking at her with hearts in his eyes. 

“Yeah, what he said,” Usopp says, grinning. “Only not the shitty part.” 

She simply smiles at them all, unsure of what to say and generally unused to being the center of attention just by virtue of what she’s wearing. She can’t say she’s entirely uncomfortable but— She’s distracted momentarily as Brook swans up to her. 

“You’re absolutely stunning, Miss Robin,” he says in a low voice. “May I—” he seems to switch gears at a glare from Nami, hesitating a moment before continuing: “Help you with your coat?” 

“That’s my job, shitty afro,” Sanji says, getting to his feet. The knock comes again and Robin knows it’s time. She straightens her shoulders, trying to ignore everyone grinning like a loon. Even Zoro is smiling, a warm look on his face as he watches her. She, more than anyone, knows what a conspiracy looks like and it does nothing for her heart rate.   
At the door, she allows Sanji to help her with her coat, then to open the door. Franky is standing on the stoop, looking faintly annoyed, but his expression changes to something else as he looks at her. For a moment she truly feels like the most beautiful person in the world, and the thought charms her. He looks good, too, his blue hair immaculate, carrying a bouquet of white and red poinsettias, a suit jacket and: 

“You’re wearing pants!” she says, putting a hand to her mouth. This _is_ a surprise. They’re not even cropped, rather fall all the way to his shoes which shine in the porch light. 

“Franky’s wearing pants?!” comes Luffy’s bellow from inside the house and there is the sound of a yelp and a scuffle. Robin ignores this, too caught up in Franky’s sheepish grin and the red across the bridge of his nose. 

“Yeah, well don’t get used to it. It’s not super comfortable. But I was having a good week.” 

“I see,” she says, laughing. Franky coughs and then steps forward, seems to realize he still has the bouquet and hands it up to her. 

“For you,” he says. She takes it, holding it gently and hearing a bell ring. It’s tied onto a cord that’s wrapped around the bottom of the red and white snowflake paper, she realizes. What a pleasant little touch. 

“These are poisonous, you know,” she says, catching his eyes, a challenge. 

“Not when you’re holding them,” he says, a wider grin this time and it’s her turn to go red. But she smiles and swats his arm. What is she supposed to do with a compliment like that? 

“I’ll put those in some water if you like,” Sanji says, butting in. 

“Thank you,” Robin says, though takes a single flower from the boquet, stepping onto the landing, she leans up and puts it in Franky’s hair, just behind his ear. 

“Perfect.” 

“You’re a weird one,Nico Robin ,” he says, looking down at her. Their faces are close. Close enough so that his breath stirs her hair. His lips part, but she moves in a smooth movement to take his arm and start to lead him down the walkway to the car. 

“I’m not sure how I feel about someone who routinely wears a speedo calling me weird,” she says.

“When a man’s gotta swim, a man’s gotta swim,” Franky says. “And I’m too super for pants.” 

“Mmhm.”   
Sanji begins bellowing what he’ll do to Franky should he screw up, Luffy hoots at something, Nami heaves a frustrated sigh and the door shuts. Robin can’t help but giggle. They are a noisy bunch. 

“You think we can have one date without being gawked at by the peanut gallery?” Franky asks, opening the car door for her. 

“I don’t think so,” she says, slipping inside and admiring the hula dancer hanging from the rear view mirror as she waits for him to get in on the other side. It could be irritating on occasion, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.

*****

It’s apparent that Franky is nervous about something, too, as they drive to town, Perhaps, it is just the pants, though. He keeps shifting and pulling at them, and then putting a hand on his pocket as if protecting something. Robin doesn’t look too closely, instead turning her gaze outside at the beautiful dancing lights. They are coming to the main strip now— but he pulls over before they quite reach it, parking by the sidewalk.

“Figure we can walk— if you want.” He scratches the back of his neck again. “We don’t have to but, there’s a lot of great displays this year…” 

Uncertain Franky was also a new one. She enjoys it and it actually calms her a little. She rests a hand on his arm. 

“I would love to,” she says. And it’s true. Of course she would enjoy such a thing and she can’t imagine why he would be so uncertain about it. Though perhaps it is really something else he is nervous about. 

She tries not to think about it as they get out and begin to walk. It’s still a little chilly, so it gives her an excuse to wrap her arms around his large one and lean against it. It makes his breath catch at first and she can’t help but enjoy it. He doesn’t exactly wear his heart on his sleeve all the time— and catching a peek at it when he’s trying to hide it is always amusing. 

He does nothing more, than that, though, but she’s fine with it. They are on the strip now and there’s so much to look at. On each side of the street are enchanting shops, lit warmly and strung with lights and green wreaths. They stop to admire a train set up in a toy store, towering over the heads of several small children. Honestly, Robin is more interested in the little heads right below her, the little knitted caps with the bobbles on them, the tiny fingers pressed against the glass. Even the parents who stood by at the ready, chatting comfortably. It’s warmly domestic, and not the kind she’s used to. 

“I wouldn’t mind one,” Franky said as they moved away and down the sidewalk once more. She’s surprised he doesn’t already have a train set, an elaborate one at that. Though perhaps he just prefers ship models? 

“Why, so you can blow it up?” she says, teasingly. That’s what happens to most of his projects, including, on occasion, the ship models. Intentionally of course. Sometimes she feels he likes the blowing up as much as he likes the building. Franky seems startled, pushing his thumb up against his forehead, seeming to forget he’s not wearing sunglasses, as he stares down at her. 

“That’s pretty dark, even for you.” 

“What?” Robin blinks at him, surprised. Then realizes and straightens. “Oh you mean…” No… no he couldn’t mean. Not Franky. She couldn’t see it in him… Could she? “What did you mean?” 

“You know,” Franky said, looking away and scratching his nose. “Super little mes. Or …yous…” 

So it was what she thought he meant… Well… She wasn’t entirely… Of course she wouldn’t be adverse to it, exactly… but there was so much to consider. Life was too unstable right now for any of them to find footing, even for those who weren’t… so deeply involved…in certain things.

“Mm,” she says, a neutral sound, neither agreeing or disagreeing. She pulls away from him a little, though doesn’t move from him completely, keeping a hand in the crook of his arm. He puts his other large hand over hers. 

“Not right away. Or ever. Just if it comes about.” 

“It seems we already have quite a few,” she says, feeling a little better as she smiles up at him. “At least three,” she says with a nod, thinking of Luffy, Usopp and Chopper.   
“Not always so sure about the other two, either.” 

“I know. Teenagers can be quite a burden. We’ll have to discipline them better.” 

Franky chuckled. “I’d like to see the look on Zoro’s face if we sent him to his room.” 

She has to smile at the mental image, too. He’s capable of quite interesting expressions when annoyed. It’s no wonder everyone enjoys annoying him.   
They linger a little while longer on the main street. A soft snow starts to fall in little white stars. It’s beautiful and she can’t help but think how much that is beautiful is also deadly. Too much snow could kill anyone. Or could make the ground slick and cause a deadly accident. It brings her attention to the poinsettia in Franky’s hair, gathering white on the stunning red of the petals. It’s certainly deadly, and he can be also. And, of course, there was little that was more deadly than an attractive women. The kind of fatality you didn’t always see coming. Especially if they were good at it. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Franky says as they near the Civic Hall. Robin tucks a strand of hair over her ear and considers which to tell him. 

“I’m wondering if we’ll have a wonderful night and what a pity it would be to get into a fiery wreck afterwards.” Another thought. “It would be a beautiful example of dramatic irony.” 

“Let’s not,” Franky said, making a face. “I just put new rims on her.” He was teasing, she knew, but only partly. He did love his fancy car things. The steps on the civic hall are steep and are rapidly becoming covered with snow. Frank pauses so she can gather her dress in one hand, to keep it off the wet concrete and begin to ascend. 

“Except for the super night, we can do that,” Franky says. “I ordered champagne.” 

“Oh? How clas— “ her words are cut off in a yelp as she slips on an icy patch and pitches forward. She has a thought that steps look very sharp indeed. She never reaches them. The next thing she knows she’s been swept up against Franky’s chest, his large hand splayed on her stomach. He’s breathing hard in shock and so is she. She puts her hand on his, trying to catch her breath. It wouldn’t have been disastrous of course, but why was being saved so much more terrifying than falling. 

“You alright? Did you hurt anything?” he asks, and she can feel his voice against her back. 

“No…” she says, though she’s still making sure that’s true. “No, I’m fine.” And she is. Just startled was all. Her hem wasn’t even ripped. She twists to look up at him and smiles, even as her heart races. 

“My hero,” she murmurs, brushing her fingers along his jaw before leaning up to press a kiss against his lips— but only a brief one as she doesn’t want to risk another fall. He returns the smile faintly but waits until they get up the steps before muttering about them being super irresponsible and not salting the steps. 

“Mind if I shoot Zambai a text?” he asks. He would be nearby, she supposes, or at least prepared as he owns a snowplow. 

“Go ahead, I’ll wait inside.” Because it’s chilly out here and going in would give him impetus to follow rather than to stay out chatting with him. Inside the Civic Center is warm and gorgeous. There are deep reds and greens everywhere, and a Christmas Tree glistening with white lights behind the live band that are playing “White Christmas” with deep trumpets and strings that are almost on par with Brook’s. Tables with red and green candles are tucked into the warm drowsy darkness around a dance floor, already full of couples. 

Robin waits by the coat check in behind some woman in enormous furs, rubbing her hands together to warm them. She watches the turning couples almost enviously. She’s not one for dancing much, not liking to be out in the middle of the floor. Though she suspects she might enjoy swaying on the edges. That is generally not Franky’s idea of a good time and so she doesn’t think there will be any of it tonight. Oh well, it’s enough to watch. 

“Miss Robin!” says a familiar voice behind her. She turns and smiles at Iceberg, dressed to the nines in a very nice striped suit. The little mouse he carries with him is peeking out of his suit pocket, a tiny bow wrapped around its head. 

“Hello,” she says, holding out her hands as he reaches for them. He lifts them to his mouth but kisses his thumbs rather than her fingers like a gentleman should. “You look nice.”   
“You as well.” He smiles, relinquishing her hands. “Mna…I wonder…, should I congratulate you?”

“I don’t know,” Robin says, faintly perplexed. “Should you? 

“I suppose not,” he said, a flat expression crossing his face. She isn’t sure why, but she could be misreading it. It’s a little dim in here. Still he smiles again shortly after. “Allow me at least to take your coat.” 

“Please don’t feel obligated…” she says. “There’s a line,” And he probably has other people to see, being the host of this event. 

“Then please allow me to abuse my authority,” he says with a little bow. She breathes a laugh and gives in. He’s certainly charming. Not exactly her type, but charming. She unbuttons her coat, allowing him to take it and watches as he scoots behind the check-in counter and out of sight. 

A blast of cold announces Franky’s presence and Robin rubs her arms and turns to make sure that’s who it really is. She’s still not comfortable with strangers at her back.   
“Sorry about that,” he says, rubbing his red nose before peeling off his outer jacket with no grace whatsoever. “Hey, Idiotberg, your steps are too damn icy,” Franky snaps as Iceberg emerges from the check-in, complete with throwing the coat at his face. “I nearly busted my face.”

Iceberg catches the coat before it hits him and gives Franky a flat look. Several people have turned to look at them and the band seems to play louder to compensate. Robin shifts absently further into the shadows. She doesn’t terribly mind if he causes a scene so long as she doesn’t have to be seen in it. 

“I’m aware,” Iceberg says. “I’ve sent Paulie for some salt. Now hang up your coat and try not to be such a boor, Fra-moron.” 

Franky snatches his coat back and goes to the counter. 

“Yo, hey! I’m hanging this up! Be super quick about it!” 

Iceberg looks around, then spots her, coming in a little closer. 

“I should thank you for putting up with him,” he says. “It can’t be easy.” 

“Easy enough,” she murmurs, not wanting to speak against him. And it’s true. Whatever flaws Franky has, the rest of him more than makes up for it. Iceberg hums a sound that could be taken many ways, pleasant or not, but seems to take the hint. 

“In any case, have a pleasant evening, Miss Robin. And Happy Holidays.” 

“Thank you,” she says, inclining her head. He gives her a little bow again and takes his leave, a moment before Franky returns and she takes his arm again as he leads her to a table, tucked in a corner by a window and another, more colorful tree. 

“You know he wanted to congratulate me,” she says, smoothing her dress and sitting as Franky holds the chair out for her.   
“About what?” 

She waits for him to sit, too, the chair creaking a little under his weight, before looking at him over the flickering candlelight, raising her eyebrows. 

“Hmm, I’m not sure. Mysterious, isn’t it?” 

“Hmph, that idiot is just—” Franky stops as if realizing something. Clears his throat. “Let’s have some champagne,” he says, sounding strained. Her own throat feels swollen suddenly. Is it? Could he really be about to…to ask? Surely not. But what if he is? It’s certainly probable given all the mysterious smiles everyone has been giving her lately. Iceberg, too. They don’t talk enough for him to congratulate her on anything. 

Robin watches Franky hard, trying to understand the truth in his face. He keeps looking away from her or reading the menu, muttering about ducks and fancy food that he can’t even pronounce. “White Christmas” fades replaced by a slow rendition of “All I Want for Christmas Is You”. Franky’s hands clench over the menu and he sets it down, watching her in turn so that she has to look away. There is silence as the waiter comes by and pours their champagne in elegant fluted glasses that is dwarfed in Franky’s hand. It seems as if he would break such a delicate thing. But, as he told her that one time…he’s a master with delicate things. That…certainly turned out to be true. Robin shifts and sips the champagne, looking out onto the dance floor once again. 

“Hey, so…” Franky says and she turns her attention back to him. He’s rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not good at this kind of stuff. And I know I’m not the greatest catch you’ll ever land. And I know you put up with a lot with me….” He takes a deep breath and Robin carefully puts the glass down, icy tingles racing under her skin. Her hands clench under the table. He reaches into his pocket and puts a box onto the table. She’s momentarily relieved he didn’t cause a scene by going down on one knee, but she can’t help but stare at that box, so small under his big fingers. 

“So… I’d be honored…” he clears his throat again and opens the box with one finger. “If you’d marry me.” 

Oh… 

Well then…

She doesn’t know what to say. 

Even though she knew it was coming. All the clues had been there. And yet… all she can do is sit there speechless while she stares at the ring. It’s beautiful. A center diamond with two amethysts that wink deep purple in the candlelight. 

He waits patiently. And then waits a little impatiently she can tell as the chair creaks. But still he waits. What does she want… She doesn’t not want it… and …they are together all the time anyway… and should…should the unexpected happen… with him… together… Warmth pricks her eyes and she blinks rapidly to stem the tide. No she won’t. Not even for this but… 

But … 

She holds out her hand, feeling awkward. He stares at her, not getting it. She wants to say yes in a way that doesn’t sound like some squeaky teenager so she wishes he would just get the hint. Finally she manages: 

“It’s traditional for you to put it on, isn’t it?” she says, surprised at the warm teasing sound of her own voice when the rest of her was a bundle of nerves. Franky stares at her and she’s tempted to jab him with her toe under the table. Then he grins widely, making her smile, and then stop as he seems to swell up… if he yells Super… if he yells it… she will accept it because it’s momentous but she will be red for the rest of the night. 

But then, remarkably, surprisngly, he checks himself and blows out a breath, whicking out one of the candles. 

“Super,” he says in a low voice, making her laugh. He fumbles with the box a bit and then with the ring before sliding it on her finger. It’s oddly cool. Light. But with a certain weight that has nothing to do with ounces.

“Super,” he says again, kissing her fingers and then her palm with faintly rough lips. “So damn super. I’ll make you happy I swear.” 

“You’d better,” she says. “I’m not adverse to becoming a black widow.” She tilts her head. “In fact, you may have to watch your back in any case.” 

“If you’re there, I’d be glad to,” he says and it’s horrible how charming that is. He kisses her hand again and then releases it to pick up his champagne glass and chug it down in two quick swallows. Robin lifts her hand and looks at the glinting stones. 

“You want to dance?” he says abruptly. She blinks. Shocked once again. 

“Dance?” she says. “You?” 

He stands, holding out his hand.

“Since I'm dressed up, might as well go full throttle," he says, rolling the "r"s horribly. 

Robin hesitates a moment, but only a moment, before she places her faintly shaking hand in his and lets him lead her out to the edges of the dance floor. Then he pulls her close, one hand on the small of her back, as much as he can fit his hand there, anyway, and the other enfolding hers and pulling it against his chest as they do nothing more but sway back and forth to the faintly jazzy music. She watches his eyes, just as he watches her. It’s strange. There are others around them, she knows this— but everyone has dropped away. The world has dropped away. They are the only people in it and she feels oddly free, oddly protected, very loved. 

“Are you having a good night?” Franky asks in a softer voice than she’d ever heard from him.

“Hmm.” She pretends to think about it a moment. “Yes… Though the pants are a surprise.” 

This makes him chuckle and squeeze her hand warmly. He leans down and presses a kiss against her lips and she accepts it, returns it even. Even if people can see, it doesn’t matter. He pulls away to look at her with soft eyes and says: 

“I love you, Nico Robin." 

As to that… Well… She smiles and kisses his jaw before resting her head against his shoulder. She has flaws, too, and some things—true as they may be, are harder to say than others. Still— she’s not worried. He’ll understand. She knows this without a doubt. 

“You, too,” she murmurs. He presses her a little closer and as the music goes on, so do they, dancing slowly into the soft winter night.


	5. Dashing Through the Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco is not overly fond of snow, nor is he overfond of having to stand in it. But where his brothers are concerned, there is little he won't do to see them have a good time. 
> 
> No Pairings, WB fluff.

Marco yawned, smacking his lips and hugged himself in the big blue and black feathered coat. He was sleepy, even if it was cold. And every part of him was cold. Well mostly his head. He was going to borrow Jozu’s hat, yoi, if he could find him. It was a big hat and he could probably swim in it if he wanted…which to be more accurate he would be under the hat, he supposed. Even better. He shifted his weight in the ankle deep snow and looked around. AuRevoir Island was pretty anyway. Trees were hung with icicles that attracted little flashy insects that looked like lights. The snow was a light blue-white shade. And, prettiest of all, was the ski lodge just behind him, all cozy and warm with curling smoke and Pops and not out here in the cold at the base of a steep hill. 

But he was not here for no reason after all. 

“Aww YESSS!” came a bellow from up the hill. Marco looked up to watch Namur careening down on it on his stomach, grinning as only a shark fishman could, the snow kicking up around his flashy red crimin goggles. Haruta was on his back, her hands thrust up in the air as she wooped, green scarf whipping in the wind.

“WAHOOO! HEEEyyy, Marcooo!” she called, waving to him as she passed. He waved back. She grinned, then yelped nearly falling off. He jolted, ready to catch her, but she grabbed onto Namur’s fin and settled herself, laughing wildly. He huffed, tugging his jacket closer. This place was dangerous, yoi. He’d read the books. His brothers were tough but a broken neck could make anyone sore and grumpy for a while. It was also cold. They could catch colds. Why couldn’t they all just sit in the ski lodge and drink themselves into a stupor? 

Because it would negatively encourage Pops that was why. 

He waved to a few third division who wooshed by in innertubes, holding eachother’s hands to keep together and laughing crazily. Then Vista, in proper form on his skis, leaving sparkles behind him as Rakuyo struggled beside him, looking terrified behind his goggles. 

“Bend your knees, yoi!” Marco called. 

“Now, now no helping!” Vista called. “This is a gentleman’s ra—” Marco winced as he was whacked in the face by a low hanging branch which broke on his fabulous mustache and did little to slow him down…though did result in pine needles to the face.

Rakuyo laughed at him and fell, falling head over skis down a few steps. Marco looked on impassively because they were grown men damnit, yoi, and they didn’t need him to scoop them up. He should have brought a nurse or two out there and would have if he thought it wouldn’t result in more broken necks.  
Vista flashed to a stop and helped Rakuyo to his feet and Marco nodded, inwardly satisfied. Yes. That was good. He was not worried at all. He was just standing there unaffected by the world and his brothers goofing off. A cold wind blew and he sneezed, shuddering a little as it passed over the smooth skin of his head. It wasn’t fair. He needed a hat. Where was his Jozu hat? 

He watched a few more men of various devisions. Heard alarmed cries that got him going again until he realized it was Atmos, Blenheim and Curiel on a dish like sled that had started spinning alarmingly as it tore down the mountainside. 

“Get your damn beards out of my face!” Curiel yelled. 

“I’m going to kill you guys!” Blenheim said, sounding sick. 

“There’s Marco,” said Atmos. 

“Hi, Marco,” they chorused. Marco raised a hand, and then face palmed as the disc hit a ridge and sent all three men airborne, scattering and pocking into the deep snow. The disc sled kept on and razored the tree that Vista had hit in half, sending it crashing into the snow. He wanted to take care of it. He really did. But he folded his arms and stood his ground, giving them a level look as they emerged, dizzy and covered with snow, but seeming cheerful. 

“Get it out of the way, yoi,” Marco said, nodding to the tree. He didn’t want anyone else to crash into it. Not everyone had a strong Vista face. They waved their agreement and Atmos staggered over to fletch the sled while Blenheim and Curiel worked on tugging the tree from the snow and dragging it off to the side. There was a deep gash there.  
That could be dangerous. 

But no. It was fine, yoi. His men were strong. He wasn’t going to worry. 

“I can’t believe you’re still out here,” said Izou from behind him. Izou was dressed more fluffily than he was, a long purple coat with darker purple designs and lots of fluff around the collar that made the okama’s already pale face seem paler. 

He was keeping an eye on everyone, he wanted to say. He was making sure they didn’t wreck the place, he wanted to say. All strong noble things. 

“It’s cold, yoi,” he said instead, trying to get a bid of sympathy. Izou smiled and produced a steaming mug and, joy of warbly joys, a hat with a bobble on it. It was shaped like a freaking pineapple which meant he had to kick someone in the head, and it was decidedly not a Jozu hat. But it covered his head and his ears and he was a warm and toasty Marco— even more so when he found the steaming mug contained minty coffee. Delicious. He slurped happily and mentally swished his sparkly tail. 

“You don’t have to stand out here, you know,” Izou said, folding his elegant hands into his muff. “They’ll be fine on their own.” 

“I’m just enjoying the scenery.” And they needed someone to wave to. Pops would do it, of course, and had for the better part of the morning but Marco didn’t want him to catch cold. He wasn’t as young as he used to be and he had enough problems without that. 

“Mmhm.” Izou flicked his bobble. “You’re not fooling anyone, pretty bird.”

Pretty bird? Marco raised an eyebrow. 

“You’ve been hanging around Thatch, yoi.” 

“What? I have not!” Izou said, straightening, annoyance flashing in his eyes. “Well not more than usual anyway.” He tossed his head and looked away snootily. It was far too late for that. Marco already shipped them together and may have, once or twice, designed it so they had to go on a mission together. 

Alone. 

They had to spend a lot of time together to realize they actually liked each other a lot. So it wasn’t anything sneaky. Maybe a little sneaky, he was a pirate after all. But mostly it was improving crew morale. 

A horn sounded somewhere, startling him and he immediately thought of avalanches and digging brothers out of deep snow, after which they would definitely have colds. Plus it would mean digging. In snow. Cold snow. 

“Oh, it’s Fossa’s Cavalry,” Izou said, unworried and looking up the hill. Marco looked too and saw two dozen of the Fifteenth Division members and Fossa himself, spinning down the hill in black innertubes. The trumpeter was a relatively new kid who was trying to bleat out notes even as she sped and twirled in her tube. 

Oh no! The gash in the snow from the tree! If they ended up in that, it could be pretty bad, yoi. It could even cause a pile up. He tensed as the tubes whizzed close to the trench, waving absently as various voices said, ‘hi, Marco!’ The little trumpeter was heading straight for it, right in the thick of the tubes. Marco started forward but Izou grabbed his arm.

“Don’t, it’s too dangerous.” 

“But—” The trumpeter! Fortunately the kid kicked off at the ground at the last second and twirled away. 

“See?” Izou patted his arm comfortingly. “It’s fine. Nothing bad is going to happen because a little bit of snow.” 

Marco gripped his mug, wishing Izou hadn’t said that, because now he was doubly worried. He fidgeted. No. He couldn’t just let it sit there. He handed Izou his mug and then casually went out on the hill, kicking snow over the gash and making sure it was even. It was cold work, though. Cold got in his gloves and in his boots and his nose was red and he was generally an unhappy Marco. He heard voices at the top of the hill and realized they could probably see him caring about them and worrying too much. 

He shifted into phoenix form, beaking the snow idly as if looking for tasty seeds and blandly uncaring about the world around him. 

“AHHHH!” came two familiar voices. 

“Marco, watch out!” Izou cried.

Marco looked up to see Thatch and Ace on one sled, zooming straight toward him. Thatch was holding the rope that was attached to the steering board, which was detached from the sled. They were out of control. 

Marco let out an undignified squawk and started running across the snow to get away. Oh shit, ohshit,ohsit. 

“ _Fly, you idiot!_ ” Izou screeched. Oh right! Flying! Marco launched himself into the air and got a Thatch face to the back as he was carried along with them. Below him the hill steepened and yawned to a ditch, which they avoided, a curving mound of snow, which they launched over, then steepened again, ending in a ledge. 

Oh…

_WHY WAS THERE A LEDGE?!_

“Ahh! Thatch! We’ve got a problem!" Ace bellowed. 

“No shit!” Thatch said, and large hands were peeling Marco away, turning him around, and holding him up. Thatch grinned, giving him the smoulder. “Hi.” 

‘ _THERE IS A LEDGE! DO SOMETHING!_ ’ Marco screamed at him in phoenix, screeching and flailing his wings in panic. Thatch’s eyes widened. 

“What?!” He lifted Marco and peered through his tail. “Oh _shit_!” 

“I told you!” Ace said. “No problem! I’m going to do a thing!” 

“Don’t do a thing!” Thatch and Marco yelled in human and phoenix respectively. 

But it was too late, Ace was doing a thing. His fists punched out on either side of Thatch, flickering with fire. He bellowed something that was taken away by the wind and the fire danced over the snow, melting it and turning into a slick icy patch which sent them spinning and careening even faster toward the ledge. 

“ _The hell was that?!_ ” Thatch yelled, pitch rising into almost a squeak. 

“I was trying to make an ice bridge!” Ace said. 

“You big, idioahhhh!” Thatch howled as they were airborne, spinning and twisting in the air, the sea roaring below in a narrow inlet that cut the island almost in half. Marco sighed.  
He knew this was going to be a day. 

The sled fell away, Ace with it. Marco twisted, digging his talon into Thatch’s shoulder and twisting in mid-air, whipkicking him to the top of the cliff on the other side and then diving for their freckly D bastard who was dropping like a stone to the crashing ocean. Marco pulled his wings in closer, eyes narrowing against the wind and dropping faster and faster. Ace reached up for him and Marco caught him by the arm, and snapped his wings wide, the toe of Ace’s boot skimming over the water. Ace’s other arm became a column of fire, giving Marco a bit of a thermal boost as the hot air rose so he didn’t have to flap his damn wings off. 

He reached the cliff where Thatch was standing, hands in his pockets and grinning like a fiend. 

“Great jo—” though his voice was cut off as Marco whipkicked Ace right into him, sending them both flattening into the snow. Served them right. Jerks. Bastards, yoi. He was going to tie them to the mast to pay for it. And by mast he meant a chair in the ski lodge where they’d have to sit in front of the fire and ogle the pretty nurses while drinking hot chocolate and whiskey. That’d teach ‘em. 

He landed in the snow, sinking down to his belly, and watch as Thatch and Ace squirmed to disentangle themselves. Finally Thatch shoved him off, rubbing his nose which was bleeding a little. 

“You’ve got a damn hard head,” he muttered. Ace laughed, too free, too open. Marco forgave him already even though his feet were cold. Jerk. 

“Let’s do it again,” he said. 

Thatch managed to save Marco from pecking a hole in Ace’s forehead but he was still flailing at him and squawking, feet pedaling uselessly in the air as Thatch held onto him. 

“I was just joking,” Ace said, pouting and rubbing his bleeding forehead. Marco was going to kick his ass for just joking. He stopped struggling, though and instead hunched back and floofed his feathers, put out and trying to keep himself warm as he glowered at Ace. _Glowered_. 

“Let’s go in for a while instead, aye?” Thatch said, petting Marco with his big warm hands. “I bet it’s dinner time.” 

“Sounds good,” Ace said, getting to his feet and brushing snow off his board shorts. He gave Marco a cute little twisty smirk on his cute freckled face and took off his hat.  
“Want a ride?” he said, pointing to his hair. “I’ll keep you warm.” 

Oh his yes. He liked Thatch warmth as always, but even Thatch warmth wasn’t as warm as Ace warmth. He nodded and Thatch put him on Ace’s head. Marco sighed, settling himself on those dark silky strands, tucking himself close so Ace could put his hat over him. His tail stuck out and his head, too, over Ace’s forehead, but that was fine. He liked it this way. He swooshed his tail happily and made contented chirpy bird noises as Thatch and Ace went the long way and across the wooden bridge toward the lodge. Izou was standing where they’d left him. 

“What happened to your sled?” he asked. 

“Fell in the water,” Ace said. “It was pretty fun.” 

Marco snorted and gave Izou a look that told the okama all the information he needed. Izou opened his mouth, closed it agian, and shook his head. 

“I don’t want to know. Listen I’ll get the others and we’ll just call it a day, huh?” Izou said, coming over to them and giving Marco’s head loving pets. Yes. Yes he was a proud phoenix yoi that didn’t need pets but he liked them. 

“Sounds good to me, I’ll help,” Thatch said, starting up the hill, Izou trailing after him. 

“I don’t need your help. I swear you just do this to be annoying.” 

“You’re cute when you’re annoyed,” Thatch said, pinching Izou’s cheek and was immediately punched in the face with a fan. 

“Oops,” Izou said, snapping it open. Ace laughed.

“Nice shot!” 

“Whose side are you on?” Thatch said. 

“My own,” Ace said and Marco could hear the grin in his voice. Brat, yoi. So spoiled. They should not indulge him. But he was too toasty not to indulge. That was why. Marco’s birdy feet were happy. And so was the rest of them as they entered the lodge where so many of them were already gathered. 

Ace hung up his coat, bowed and apologized to one of the attendants for keeping his hat on, then wended his way through his brothers, laughing and talking to them as they caught his attention, but making his way invariably to Pops who was taking up a whole wall all by himself. 

“Gurarara did you have fun?” Pops said, beaming down at them. He pet Ace’s hat with two fingers, petting Marco, too and he let out a happy chirp. 

“Yeah, we had a blast.” Ace hopped up on Pop’s bench and someone handed him a spiced beer. Marco lowered his head to catch the scent and Ace lifted the mug so Marco could dip his head and get a beakful. 

“That’s good,” Pops leaned back, resting his massive hand on his knee. “You know I haven’t done that sort of thing in years.” 

“So come with us!” Ace said. 

Come with them?! Marco went stiff as shock snapped through him. Pops laughed in a deep rumble. 

“I think I’m too old for that.” 

“Nah,” Ace said and lifted a hand to stroke Marco’s head. “You’re not too old. It’ll be fun! And we’ll take care of you.” 

Pops was considering it. He actually was. Marco shifted anxiously. What if something happened? What if the sled overturned? What if there was an avalanche?

“I’ll be fine,” Pops said, running a finger over Marco’s tail as if making sure Marco knew who he was really speaking to. There was a moment as he considered it. Marco didn’t want him, to. He really didn’t. Anything could happen. But… he couldn’t help but remember the smiles of everyone as they raced down the hill, having fun. It was even kind of fun when Ace and Thatch—

—No that had been terrifying. 

But everyone else looked like they were having a good time and Pops should do it while he still could. The thought gave him sad thoughts and he focused on the warm room and the warm head and Pops’ finger, still patiently petting. Marco swished his tail over it, letting Pops know he wasn’t okay with it all the way but he was okay enough. As long as they avoided ledges. 

“I guess I can manage one run,” Pops said. 

“Great!” Ace said with a grin that could sink ships and start wars. Stupid D. Marco nipped his nose lightly just to show what he felt about the situation and beaked more beer. It would be fine. They would be fine.

**~~~~___ʃ

Marco sat on the gigantic sled, or rather on Pops’ shoulder on the gigantic sled. Ace sat in front. But more importantly, Ace sat in front with his hands on ropes that were made for hands much larger than his.

 _No one had said anything about him driving!_

They were going to die. Not him. But Ace. And Pops. Marco tried not to shuffle back and forth or hide his head under his wing but he couldn’t help but be nervous. This, completely ledgeless hill, was steep. Really steep. He didn’t fidget but he let out a distressed warble. 

“It’s fine, Marco,” Pops said in a voice that didn’t sound like he was starting to regret this if only a little. 

“It’s going to be great.” Ace adjusted his feet against the sled, pulled the rope around his body and then leaned back  
.  
“Okay! Give us a push guys!” he called. Marco looked over his shoulder where Jozu and Atmos were giving him apprehensive looks. He gave a little birdie sigh and nodded. They looked at him, looked at each other, shrugged and pushed. The sled creaked. Skidded a little and Marco squawked embarrassingly loud—

But it didn’t budge. Ha! 

Maybe it was stuuuuuuuuuuuuuu—

Marco clung to Pops with all his might, the wind pushing him off and making his eyes stream, he was sqwuaking up a storm he knew but this was a really steep freaking hill and they were going really fast! Panic! Mayday! Mayday!

A dark blot in the snow bank to the left and right showed the entire crew had gathered. Marco straightened immediately, staring straight ahead and letting the wind catch his crest and tail majestically as they streamed past, everyone waving enthusiastically and cheering. 

This…wasn’t bad. Yeah. It was actually fun, yoi. Here he was having fun while careening down a doom hill at a speed the equivalent of death on skids. The snow looked pretty even here, too. Nothing to worry about. There was a ramp but they weren’t heading for it so—

Ace pulled back, the sled skidded to one side and they were now heading toward the ramp. The very large ramp. The ramp that would make him peck Ace silly should they survive the damn thing.

“READY?!” Ace asked. 

NO! He wasn’t ready! He’d never be ready for a thing like this!! Even Pops seemed to tense up. Ace, though threw back his head and howled as wooshed up the ramp. It was slow motion as they wheeled in midair, heading backwards. And then FLOOMP snow. All around him. Ahh too much snow! In his face! He was buried! It was cold! He flailed as a phoenix and then clued in and switched back to human, trying to find his way out. Where was it? Where?!

A gentle hand scooped around his waist and lifted him up. Marco clung to Pops’ wrist breathing hard.

“There there,” Pops said in amused voice, brushing snow off Marco’s coat before setting him on his knee. “We’re alright.”

There was a loud laugh and Ace came out of the snow, laughing so loud he had to bend double, pointing. 

“You…you should see the l—look on your faauugugh—!” he gurbled as Marco slapped a snowball into his face, getting him right in the mouth. Pops laughed, loud and long, scooping Ace out of the snow and Ace spat out the snow, but was laughing with them. It was infectious and soon Marco was laughing, too, harder than he had in a while. He held his stomach and laughed until he wheezed. 

When he could finally breathe again, he straightened, wiping tears from his eyes and found Ace smirking at him. 

“Have fun?” 

“I suppose, yoi,” Marco said, unable to stop himself from smiling. Ace’s smirk only grew and Marco realized he was hiding something behind his back. 

“Good. SNOW WAR!” he bellowed, lobbing a snowball which Marco deftly avoided out of pure instinctive panic. 

Soon the air was thick with the flying snowballs of fifteen nintey-nine brothers having a good time. Marco squawked right back into bird form and scrambled in Pops’ jacket. There was no way he was getting involved in that, yoi. It was warm in here and he could hear Pops’ voice even louder, rumbling in his chest. He could hear his breathing, too, and pressed his ear against that massive chest to listen carefully for the first sign of wheezing as Pops got to his feet and jostled around, probably dumping snow over everyone within reach. Outside there were hoots and hollers and yells and a shriek, then Izou yelling something at Thatch. Marco snuggled in contentedly and listened to them have fun. Best vacation, yoi. Best ever.


	6. Gone Away is the Bluebird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been three years since Sabo has been with the Revolutionaries and he still doesn't know what to make of himself. When you're thirteen, how do you cope with having to find yourself again? But he knows there is always going to be one thing that will never change for him, and no one can convince him otherwise. Especially not this odd girl named Koala. 
> 
> Not a pairing, but maybe the beginnings of one.

Sabo woke up in the darkness. He lay on the hammock, his hands folded over his stomach as he stared at the swaying netting above him. Three years, seven months, sixteen days. That was how long he’d been here. That was how long he’d been away. Take one year off for recovery and hurting and trying to remember his own name. Take a few months from that in a desperate attempt to get back. Take a day for when Dragon had sat him down (after attempt number nine) and asked him just what he planned to return to. Sabo had sat in stubborn silence then, waiting for Dragon to fill in the blanks— but he never had, just watched with those narrowed eyes, still a little unnerving, even now. Filling in the blanks himself had been harder. 

Ace and Luffy probably didn’t even know what had happened. They thought he was already on his way, having a grand adventure. Even if he went back, what was he going to tell them? He couldn’t say he’d changed his mind. The looks they’d give him— 

He couldn’t tell them about the Celestial Dragons blowing him up, either. Especially since Sabo knew about them now. Really _knew_. They were not just another set of nobles but something that lined Sabo’s gut with a deep chill. Dangerous. Powerful. Able to do whatever they wanted without anyone to stop them. Just get out of their way or plowed under. Not that Ace would care about that, if he heard. He would want revenge because that’s what brothers did, and that’s what Ace did— and even if he couldn’t do anything about it now, Sabo knew he’d spend his whole very short life as a pirate trying to attack them…and dragging along Luffy, too. 

That was… if they even still liked him considering how he had left them. Just how strong were the bonds of sake brotherhood anyway? Besides, even if everything did work out with them, if Sabo’s parents ever found out… He didn’t want to go through that again. 

Sabo covered his eyes with his hands, feeling the rough scar under his palm. He couldn’t remember what smooth skin there felt like anymore… But that didn’t matter, he told himself… And it wasn’t like he was going to cry. That was a few months in the second year— not every day, but sometimes when the reality hit him in the gut that he couldn’t go home again. It would have been one thing if he was a pirate now with a crew. If he had something to show for it. But he wasn’t anything like they’d all dreamed to be. One year an invalid, two more a hanger on, training and working—but for what? Shouldn’t he want to still be a pirate? That was what they’d all dreamed and he couldn’t just let go of it, could he? 

That was old ground. Tired ground. Time to get up. Time to keep moving. 

He rolled out of the hammock and dragged himself above decks, nabbing his coat and hat along the way because it was frosty cold and staring again, chin resting on the railing, at the island they were anchored near. It was some stupid noble town, strung with lights that glimmered in the water of the bay. He glared at them. It was a Festival of Lights. He remembered those. Being stuffed into a hot velvet suit with an itchy lace collar, being told to sit up straight, getting a rocking horse that he’d loved instantly, only to have to give it away to a richer kid that wanted it. He wondered how many other boys were there in stupid lace collars having to give up their precious toys. Or standing outside with no toys and not a lot of food, just looking up at the lights and hating them as much as he did. 

“You’re awake.” 

Sabo half turned at the unfamiliar voice and peered at the smiling girl who was holding a steaming bowl and a cup. What was her name again? Oh right. Koala. She’d been with these guys longer than he had, but on a different ship and had just come in a few days ago. 

“Yeah…” he scratched the side of his nose, not really in the mood for awkward conversation and wishing he was like Ace who could just brood or Luffy who could just blatantly not pay attention to anything. 

“You slept through dinner…” she said, hesitating a moment before offering the bowl and cup. “So I saved you some.” 

“Oh, thanks.” He took the bowl and cup, sipping at the stew as she watched him. Her smile twitched slightly, but he couldn’t tell what she meant by that because she always had that expression or something like it. He expected her to leave, and half wanted her to, but she perched on a barrel beside him instead, folding her arms on the railing and watching the lights. 

“It’s pretty,” she said. “I’d like to go see it one day…” He snorted. 

“It’s just pretty on the outside. Don’t let it fool you. It’s a festival for nobles after all.” He drained his drink and set it too hard on the railing. The wood made a loud crack and he felt embarrassed, but shook the feeling off. Why should he be? It was the truth. 

“What does that mean?” Koala asked raising her chin off her arms. 

“It means that everyone smiles and acts nice, but it’s really just all greed and pride and angling for position.” The words tasted bitter in his mouth. “That’s what those kind of people do.” 

“Nobles?” she asked. 

“Of course!” he said. That was what they’d been talking about all this time. Maybe she was a bit dim, or spacey like Luffy. She giggled softly and he immediately felt on the defense though he wasn’t sure why. 

“But you’re a noble,” she said. 

“I am not!” 

“Your coat is really nice,” she said, rubbing the lapel between her fingers. 

“So what?” He liked nice clothes that felt good against him, and looked good, too. Didn’t everyone? 

“You wear a top hat.” She poked it, knocking it back. 

“It’s nostalgic!” He pulled the hat back into place, shifting the brim so that it sat just right. 

“But your family—” 

“Shut up!” he snapped. She flinched back like he was going to hit her, holding her hands up and smiling. 

“Sorry, sorry,” she said. The smile bugged him. But it didn’t seem mocking at all. It seemed too tight somehow. He sighed and adjusted his hat again. He wasn’t going to ask how she knew about his family. If she was from this group he was surprised she didn’t know about everything, including regular nobles, of which he wasn’t. 

“I left my parents behind.” Twice. And they were going to stay that way. “They’re not part of me and I’m not part of them. My real family is different.” 

Koala wasn’t looking at him, though. She was looking down, her hands clenched on her lap. She looked like she was going through something. Had he—really upset her that much? She’d just been teasing him, he guessed and he didn’t have to shout at her. She didn’t know about that and…he guessed…he did look kind of fancy. Sabo scratched the side of his nose and bowed his head a little. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

“Mm-mm,” Koala shook her head, taking a deep breath and looking at him again. “I’m fine.” She smiled at him. “Tell me about your real family.” 

“Uh, well…” He sort of wanted to share, but, in his mind’s eye he could see Ace, arms folded, one leg tucked underneath him and holding the pipe against his shoulder as he glowered. ‘You really have the right to call us that?’ the imaginary Ace said. And…Sabo wasn’t sure. Even after all this time. 

“Hey, you want to see the festival?” 

“What?” Koala blinked at him surprised, then looked over her shoulder toward the commander’s cabin. “I’m not sure we should.” 

“Ah, come on, it’s no big deal.” He hopped off the barrel and pulled the tarp away from the little coracle he’d made and used during his run away attempts. Weirdly, they’d never tried to take it away. It was useful for when he just wanted to get away from it all. 

“Won’t we get in trouble?” she asked as he tied a rope to the hooks in the coracle and slipped it down into the water. He grinned at her. 

“Only if we get caught.” 

And even then, who cared? What were they going to do about it? Sabo flipped the rope ladder over the side of the ship and started to climb down, Koala peered at him over the railing, silhouetted by stars. Her fingers clenched against the wood and then she swung over and came down with him. It made Sabo’s grin widen. Excellent. He got into the coracle and moved the paddle so she could get in herself. The little round boat sunk into the water a bit, not meant really for two people, but it would be fine—especially as the bay was pretty calm tonight. He put the paddle into the silky dark water and started pulling toward shore. 

“If it’s anything like ho— that place, they’ll have some great displays and better food.” He remembered the foil wrapped sweet potatoes usually sold in the lower parts of town, and the pies and cakes sitting fresh and hot in bakery windows. The thought made his mouth water. 

“But I don’t have any money,” Koala said. 

“Don’t worry about that.” He may have been born a noble, but he’d raised himself as a pirate.

~o~o~o~

The sweet potato vendor was working hard, sweat popping out on his fat bald head which he continually wiped away with a cloth. Children in soft dove white coats clustered around it, reaching for them with greedy hands, exchanging bright beri for a taste. Sabo hung in the background, hands in his pockets and grinning under the shadowed brim of his hat, waiting for just the right time. It really reminded him of when he was a kid— except this time he didn’t have Luffy’s carelessness to worry about or…Ace’s temper… But he did have Koala waiting for him back around that corner there, so he better make this good.

“Hey, mister,” he said with a polite grin as he got to the front of the messy line. He held up two fingers. “I need one for me and one for my little sister.” 

“Sure thing, kid,” the man said, handing over two. Sabo takes them, trying not to bounce them even as he feels them burn his hands, and then turns as if someone had tugged his coat, trying to get his attention. 

“What do you mean you wanted more? Okay, where did you put the purse?” he said to no one, backing out through the crowd of kids as more hands reached up for the vendor’s attention. Then he slipped them casually in his pockets and melted back into the shadows of the the buildings, taking the long way through a short set of back alleys so he could meet Koala without catching the man’s eye. 

She was waiting for him, reading through a black notebook which she shut when he arrived. 

“Look what I got,” he said with a grin, pulling two wrapped sweet potatoes from his pocket. Even though she smiled a lot, she wasn’t smiling now. 

“Are you sure that was necessary?” 

“Of course it was, he wasn’t just going to give it to us.” Wasn’t she even going to take it? It was pretty hot and she hadn’t said anything when he’d offered to get it. “Anyway he had plenty,” he said, shaking the sweet potato at her. She tucked the notebook away and with took it, peeling back the wrapping from the potato and taking a bite.   
“Mm!” Her hand flew to her mouth and he panicked for a second, wondering if it was too hot…but then she smiled brilliantly and he relaxed again. “It’s really good,” she said. She had dimples when she smiled like that, he noticed. He also hadn’t said anything. Ah, crap. 

“Haha you think so? Thanks.” What kind of phrase was that? Haha you think so. Thanks. He hadn’t baked the potato, just taken it. Geeze. He peeled back the wrapping of his own potato and tried to play it off as if he hadn’t spoken, taking a bite. It was really good. Sweet and just a little buttery and perfect. It had been so long since he’d had one of these.   
They ate in silence for a while, though Sabo tried to think up interesting things to say— or anything to say at all really. Except, he didn’t know what a girl would want to talk about. He hadn’t had a lot of interaction with girls generally speaking. At least not anyone close to his own age. He was pretty sure it was a lot different from boys and she wouldn’t be interested in bugs or really cool old bicycles. Koala was the one that broke the silence first. 

“You want to keep walking?” she said. He nodded, grateful, because walking was good. Yeah, he could do that. They would have stuff to look at. He had been so boggled by seemingly nothing at all, that he didn’t notice they were passing the sweet potato vendor (with the potato still in his hands no less) until a kid said: 

“That’s him!” 

Sabo froze and glanced over without thinking. Oh crap. They’d been caught. The guard was going to be called on them any minute. The sweet potato guy gave them a look and dropped another potato in foil, wrapping it up. 

“Happy Festival,” he said to them. 

“Happy Festival!” Koala said back brightly and walked on. Sabo caught up with her, his heart jamming against his ribs. She’d kept her cool impressively back there, and he should have, too. He was not a little kid anymore. It was pretty unforgivable to be caught like that and a lucky scrape all told… Then something occurred to him. 

“I guess he didn’t realize what I did” Sabo said when they were out of earshot. That seemed more likely. 

“You think so?” Koala said, her expression unreadable. He couldn’t even tell if she really believed him or not. Well, now he wasn’t exactly sure. But now the guilt was starting to creep in and the potato wasn’t as tasty as it had been before. He finished it because food was food. Koala held out her hand for his, then wrapped both foils up together and threw them away.

They had come to a more festive section of town now, that was lit up with soft paper lanterns of all colors and wreathes. Ornaments hung from the walls in front of the bigger houses, but even they weren’t as big as some further in town. It looked nice, but he knew what went on behind them. He couldn’t shake the sensation of knowing. Of dully hating everything about it. 

“You must have had it hard with your fa— parents,” Koala said unexpectedly. She was watching him, her hands folded behind her back, and he realized he must have been frowning. 

“It was okay,” he muttered. It just felt too weak to say out loud somehow. Like he was really effected by it. But he wasn’t because he was strong enough. A cold wind blew chill and he pushed his collar up. 

“What about you? Where are you from?” he asked. She didn’t say anything for a long while and he wondered if he’d asked a bad question. If it was her face didn’t show it. 

“I want to be from the Revolutionaries,” she said. “I’m not yet. I’ve still got a lot of work to do.” 

It’s not exactly a place, he wanted to say. But then he got the sense that she really didn’t want to answer the question. It was kind of nosy, even if she did know more about him than he did about her. Honestly…he kind of liked that she did know. He’d never met someone that was smarter than him but not stuck up about it. “

And you want to be a pirate,” Koala said. It wasn’t a question. Sabo scratched his nose and finally shrugged. He should be saying yes right away. He should be out there under a black flag. Because that was what it had all been _for_ damnit. But… the Revolutionaries did things. He’d seen it. He’d helped. They were changing the world, little by little. Couldn’t a pirate change the world, too? 

He chewed on this thought as they turned into a lane that went to an even higher scale neighborhood that had fewer lights. Some lights were okay, too many were gauche and fewer displayed “refinement” and “breeding”. The biggest houses, he knew, hardly had any decoration at all except inside where only the privileged could see it. His parents had hardly any outside, not wanting to appear ‘too middle class’. It made Sabo want to grab the lights from inside and throw them on walls so everyone could see. He wanted to steal the food, too, and give it to people who most needed it or even would just enjoy it more than the stuck up prig noses of the nobles. 

They were coming to a narrow ivy covered bridge now over a bubbling creek. A well dressed older couple was walking the opposite way. Would probably expect for Sabo and Koala to make way for them. Well screw that. He wasn’t going to make way for anyone. That was why he wanted to become a pirate. Yeah. So he could be free to walk over bridges first if he was there first and not get out of the way because some family made more beri than he did. 

“Keep walking,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth to Koala. She tilted her head at him but didn’t seem inclined to stop. The couple noticed them coming and stepped to the side. He nearly stopped in the middle of the bridge in shock. What…? Maybe it was because Sabo looked pretty tough. Yeah that was probably it. 

“Happy Festival!” they said as Sabo and Koala passed. 

“Happy Festival,” Koala returned, cheerfully. “And thank you.” 

Sabo was so stunned he muttered out a Happy Festival, too, but it was too low for anyone to hear it. What was that about? Why had they done that? It just… It just didn’t make sense. Even if his clothes were well made they didn’t really scream noble or anything like that. And even if he might look a little well-to-do, middle-class hedging on upper middle maybe, in a pinch, Koala didn’t really look fancy at all. 

“Must be the time of the year,” he muttered. “Gotta be it. Charity or something.” They were probably raging hypocrites the rest of the year. 

“Come this way,” Koala said, picking up her pace and heading toward what looked like a park, set at the crest of a low hill. 

“Why, where are we going?” 

“You’ll see,” she said. 

He shrugged and followed her, not knowing how she knew the place, but not really surprised. She was going to the park as it turned out, which just looked like a regular park, scattered with benches and a duck pond. The grass crunched frostily under their feet as she lead the way to the top of the hill and stopped just under a tree. Sabo…wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to be looking at. The tree looked just like any old tree, not even decorated, and down below was large cluster of small but comfortable looking house, blistering with lights. It was prettier than the houses around here. 

“That used to be a slum about ten years ago,” Koala said after a while. “The only place with decent houses is behind us.” 

“Huh…” he folded his arms to warm his hands. “Guess things have changed.” 

She nodded. 

“That’s because the mayor of this town enough was enough. Everyone in the slums was gathered up—” 

“And sent away,” Sabo said, feeling sick to his stomach. Sent to live in the trash heap which he couldn’t see, but he knew was there. People put there to be kept out of sight and _burned_ out of sight when it got too much. 

“No… they were taken in and… I suppose fostered for a while while the slums were cleared away and this community was set up… For them.” 

“For them?” Sabo echoed. 

“Mmhm. The Mayor is much poorer because of it. The people of the high town, too. But everyone wanted to help and it’s been this way for a while. Fortunes have even improved a little…” 

“It’s a lie.” He balled his hand into a fist. “It can’t be! They have to be lying! I’ve never met anyone like that!” 

“It’s not,” Koala said. “Don’t you think Dragon-san would know? Don’t you think he’d find out? That’s why we’ve been here for so long. These people won’t bow to the Celestial Dragons. They won’t clear out the unwanted or unfortunate. They’ve lost their protected status as a result and asked Dragon-san for help…so we’re going to help.” She smiled, a warm expression as she folded her arms loosely over her stomach. “We’re going to make sure people can keep living just like this…” 

He didn’t want to believe it. How could anyone? Anyone who had seen… But so far… so far people had been nothing but nice to him. Nothing bad had happened. No one had sneered. Except… no. No! Because if people like that existed, why hadn’t they existed where he was from? Why couldn’t they have said or done something when people were being burned out? Or given people homes? Why couldn’t they have loved him just for himself and not because he was a tool to continue the stupid family line?   
“It’s not true.” He folded his arms tightly, trying to keep the hard cold feelings inside. Koala said nothing and then softly.   
“I guess it’s really easy to hate a group of people when they hurt you.” 

Shut up! He wanted to tell her. He wasn’t hurt! He didn’t give a damn! That was why he’d started his own life! 

“But I don’t think every group is just one thing or another,” Koala was looking at the palms of her hands before pulling her fingers inward in loose fists. “I think there are even good Celestial Dragons.” 

“Now I know you’re stupid,” he said. He hadn’t meant to say it even if he felt it, but the words just came out of him from some place he didn’t understand. He wished he could just unsay them, take them out from where they hung in the air. Even if he couldn’t believe that most of all. Not after all he’d heard. 

“So do you think we shouldn’t help these people?” Koala asked. That— What kind of question was that. On one hand he wanted to say no… But… on the other… if they had helped those people out and lost their status… and needed protection…and those people needed protection… He tried to think of what Ace would say. What he’d think about this whole thing. But all he could imagine was Ace standing or maybe sitting on a branch of the tree, brooding at the view— which didn’t help, damnit Ace. Sabo wanted to kick his imaginary ass. In desperation he thought of what Luffy would do, but all he could see was Luffy crouched on the ground, completely entranced by view below. And well maybe Luffy wasn’t the best kind of guide for this sort of thing because they had sort of kind of thought of killing him once, stupid rubberhead. 

“Yeah, I guess we should,” Sabo said, tugging his hat down. They should. He would help. But he wasn’t going to like it. 

“I wouldn’t want to help people I don’t like either,” Koala said suddenly and he saw her own hands bunched into fists. “But if they’re scared or lonely or helping them will help a lot of others, then I will. ” It was the most passionate he’d heard her speak about anything. Her shoulders were tense with it and she seemed to be trembling just a little. He wondered who she didn’t like. She seemed the kind of person who would like anyone. But maybe, he guessed, people were a lot more complicated than that. They stood in quiet for a while. Things had gotten too heavy and it was partly his fault but… 

…but he could make it up to her. Yeah. 

“Hey, you want to see what’s down that way?” he said, pointing to the cheery lights down below. He grinned. “I bet their food smells even better.”   
Koala looked at him and seemed to relax, a ghost of he smile returning. 

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s.” 

And as they walked side by side down the hill, he started to feel a little more that he actually belonged here. That he fit in somehow. That he could actually make a life like this. Would he still give up being a pirate? Well, maybe and maybe not. He’d had that dream too long to let it go. But maybe…some day…he could let _some_ things go.


	7. A Miracle to Light the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Namur hasn't been home for a while, but he figures this holiday is as good a time as any. Two years on and parts of him still hurt. Parts maybe only family can start to heal. 
> 
> Note: Much of the headcanon for Namur's backstory including OCs was created by the great Magharabi.

Man, Fishman Island hadn’t changed much. He’d heard that jerkassface Hody had trashed the place, but he didn’t see much different about it. Guess they’d cleaned up a bit. Felt different. There was something in the air. Something in the faces of people. Maybe ‘cause it wasn’t theirs anymore. S’why Marco didn’t want to come down, he guessed. Didn’t want to remind people or make ‘em feel guilty. Not they should since, hell… their old man’s time had passed and they were still kind of numb from it. A little less since that Strawhat kid emerged again from outta nowhere, takin’ on pacifistas and everything all by himself, energetic lil’ shit. It made Namur proud because it would have made Ace proud and that just brought the sad feelings bubbling right back up. 

Well hell, this was a holiday and holidays were made for ‘em. 

“Sure you don’t want company?” Kingdew asked as their path forked, toward the Fishman District and the Pearl-land Mermaid Cafe and Hotel respectively. Namur thought about it, but the eleventh division probably needed cheering up and it was hard to party without their commander. His own division was scattered around, saying hello to people and hooking up with old friends, so if he needed the company, he could just grab one them. 

“Neh, I’m good. Have fun and don’t drink anythin’ yeh don’t know,” Namur said, jabbing Kingdew on the shoulder. Some drinks just weren’t meant for humans. Even Marco had a little trouble with the blowfish wine and Ace had been sick for a week. He didn’t even want to know what it’d do to Kingy’s sensitive stomach. Make him explode probably.  
Kingdew promised. Namur punched him companionably in the shoulder and went on his way. Namur hefted the sack over his shoulder and continued on his way. Where the good part a town hadn’t changed much, the Fisman District had slid backwards since he’d been here last. Or at least it seemed that way. More kids runnin’ unattached. More shadowy figures watchin’ him. Namur took a breath through his nose, filtering the water out through his gills and tasted a bit of blood along the way. Not enough to get him’ goin’, but enough to tell him that a fight had gone down not too long ago.

It better not be a damn power vacuum kinda situation. He was not about to come back down here and start cracking heads. Pops or no Pops he was a Whitebeard ‘til the day he died… or… Marco decided to let ‘em go. There had been rumors about that, but Namur hadn’t given ‘em much credit. Pirates gossiped like a buncha old ladies at a market so who could tell what was true or not? 

He scowled at lurkers, cuz it was only damn polite to acknowledge ‘em lurkin’ and continued to his Ma’s house. Hers was one of the bigger in th’ district, and he’d made sure of it too. She needed the space since she was one of the few who were takin’ care of the poor lonesome abandoned smelts that came to her door. Raisin’ ‘em just like they were her own and makin’ the district a better place, person by person. Namur was damn proud of her.

“I’m home, Ma!” he said, pushing open the door. A small group of kids, fish and mer alike gathered on the steps and down into the doorway room to see him, or rather, see what was in his back. He chuckled. 

“Help yerself,” he said, dropping the bag on the floor, from it came the clink of toys and they dove in, more coming down from the stairs. It was like lookin’ at a damn bait ball. Two of ‘em started scrabblin’ over a toy dog and Namur chuckled, stepped over the kids and called again.

“Ma!” 

“In the kitchen!” she called back.He hung a hard left and plodded down the steps to the kitchen. A young Threadfin Fishman Namur kinda recognized had camped near the stove, tuckin’ up the long threads that hung from his elbows against his arms. 

“You don’t have to do all the cooking, Tsumu-kun,” Ma said, tapping out her cigarette and leaning up so Namur could chuff his cheek against hers.   
“I want to. I’ve trained hard and I want to show you how I’ve improved, Ma… ah… Sango-san,” Tsumu said, shooting a nervous glance at Namur as if he’d thought he’d get hit or something. 

“If she’s yer ma, she’s yer ma,” Namur said, moving past him to scope the fridge for a beer. 

“Grab one for me and I’ll meet you on the roof,” Ma said. Namur did as he was told, giving the Tsumu a nod and a friendly clap on the back before goin’ out, steppin’ over the sprawlin’ kids again and up to the roof. 

It was a pretty nice day for the Fishman District. Not a whole lotta light as usual, but there seemed more than there used to be. Maybe it was just cuz up here the water was a little cleaner. He could taste home and feel it all around him. Sure the lil’ smelts were scufflin’ downstairs, but it was good clean sibling fightin’. None of this life or death shit that usually went on. 

If they could figure out how to do it, he didn’t see why the rest of Fishman District couldn’t do it. Hell, even Fishmen and humans had a shot. A small one. In the dark. But maybe. The door opened behind him and Ma came to sit down on the roof ledge beside him, holding out her hand for a beer which he thunked into her palm.

“About time you got home, you brat,” she said after taking a hearty sip. “Thought could just skip out on your old Ma and I wouldn’t notice eh?” 

“Can’t help it if yer face has gotten too scary,” Namur said. “Yer wrinkles have wrinkles.” 

She smiled, then struck like a snake, grabbing his ear and twisting hard. Ow ow ow ow! How was it that the smallest places hurt like a bitch? 

“You better watch your mouth or I’ll wash it with soap!” 

“It’d taste better’n your cookin’!” he said. She gave him a mock glower and pulled his ear so he had no choice but to lay down or to lose it. And hey. His head was in her lap just like when he was a kid. Well since it was there might as well stay. 

“I missed you, you big guppy,” she said, scratching at his temple. “Are you going to stay longer this time?” 

“Dunno…” He folded his arms and looked out over the district. High above, could only just see the faintest glow of sunlight and knew that there were people up there, waitin’. “We still got a lotta shit to do.” 

Their islands were probably a mess. Marco better get off his mopey damn tail and figure out a plan already. Was pretty tough for him, though, Namur got that. Losin’ Thatch’d been bad enough since they were pretty tight, but Ace and then Pops as well— He didn’t know how Marco could keep it all together. Even after all this time. 

“When’s this stuff stop hurtin’,” he said, not really expectin’ Ma to have an answer. She sighed, petting his hair and scratching under his chin soothingly. 

“It will when it will. Maybe tomorrow’ll help.” 

He grunted. He wasn’t sure if it would. But it might. Last time he hadn’t exactly been entranced—but he hadn’t lost anyone then either. 

“Namur… Ma said. When she didn’ say what was on her mind right away, he knew he had to brace himself for it. It might not be bad but it probably wasn’t good either. 

“Yeh?” he prompted

“I want you to be the Release,” Ma said. That startled the hell out of him. He sat up and looked at her. 

“Me? Ah, comon’, Ma. I ain’t been home for four years.” 

“I don’t care if you ain’t been home for fourteen years,” she said, poking him hard on the chest. “Yer my son and I’m proud of you. So do what I say. And if anyone has a word against it, I’ll punch their teeth in, got it?” She kept poking him throughout, the same spot, too, with her damn hard nail.

“Alright already, damn, woman,” he muttered, rubbing the spot and received a slap to the head instead that made his ears ring. 

“Don’t call me woman,” she said in a voice that booked no challenge. 

“Sorry, Ma,” he muttered, rubbing his head. Why’d she have to hit so damn hard? Couldn’t she hold back a little? He looked into her fierce lovin’ eyes and knew that she couldn’t, but he loved her anyway. 

“Ma?” a woman’s voice filtered from the trap door. 

“That’d be Salina and the brood,” Ma said, rising, as if Namur wouldn’t recognize it. “Want me to tell them you’re here?” 

“Neh, I’ll come down in a bit,” Namur said, retrieving his beer. She rose and planted a bit ‘ol smooch right on the top of his head which he grumbled about but only cuz it was tradition. 

“Welcome home, smelt,” she said and he heard her walkin’ across the roof and closin’ the trap door behind her. He sat for a little while longer, thuddin’ his heels against the wall. Release, huh? It wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before but that was when he was barely up to Ma’s hip…and only cuz he was the oldest kid in the house. Guess it was still that way. Even so it was a respected position and he wasn’t sure he deserved it much. But he wasn’t gonna tell her that, so he’d just have to buck up and deal with it.

* * * * *

They stood on the roof in a circle, the three large glass jars in the center, filled with jellyfish scoooped up from the darkest parts of the sea. Namur remembered gatherin’ ‘em when he was a kid, havin’ fun playin’ in the dark, touch’n’tag, laughin’ at the kids from outside of Fishman District who weren’t as used to the dark and scared shitless by it.’Course, they were probably the braver ones who came out to get their own. Usually those in ‘Ryugu Proper’ could buy their jellyfish with their soft little beri lovin’ hands. But those in Fishman District had to get their own. There were more people than usual celebratin’, lights lit up on other crumblin’ rooftops or in alleys. It was a good change.   
Ma started to him and he turned his attention back to their group. His family. He shifted his grip on the hook and watched the younger ones stare at the jars, the light flickerin’ in their eyes. Not a one of ‘em was younger’n seven. Ma wasn’t even holdin’ a baby on her hip. Another good sign. 

She started to sway back and forth, the old traditional song grumblin’ in her throat. Salina picked up the tune and so did some of the older ones. Tsumu grumbled at the lower pitch which was good since Namur had forgotten how it went. Soon, Ma began to sing, and though he’d heard the words a thousand times before, it hit him like sucker punch to the gut. 

“ _To our ancestors who came long ago,  
Those who made our home with their hands,  
From the great ones to names we do not know  
Thanks to you, the people still stand._” 

As the verse reached its end, Namur slid the hook in the eye of the first jar and pulled it open. The jellyfish swum up in a great glittering cloud of yellow and white with little strips of light ripplin’ through ‘em. They begin to murmur the names of the great ones, the legends, the kids throwin’ in a name or two—some of them probably never existed at all. Namur had nothin’ to add that the kids couldn’t think of, so he stayed quiet. 

Salina picked up the second verse. 

“ _To those who have left us in the near past,  
The people we admired, and those who held us tender   
Though your faces and voices did not last  
In our hearts, you’ll always be remembered._ ” 

He opened the second one and the jellyfish spilled out. A few more of them and with greater meaning. Once again names were called out, mostly by the older ones in the group who had lost hard a long time ago. But a few of the kids said: Queen Otohime. Which surprised the hell out of him. What had been happenin’ in this place while he’d been away? 

Namur waited for the third and final verse. But everyone just kept hummin’. He looked up and found them watchin’ him. It took him a moment before realization hit him like a brick fist. Fuckin’ hell he’d forgotten about this part. Not the words. But this part. Ma had planned this. He knew she had. He wanted to throw the hook down. Say hell no. Leave and go get drunk and disappear for a few more years til everyone stopped bein’ mad at him… Except he couldn’t do that anymore…

Namur took a deep breath. He couldn’t sing. So he spoke it instead.

“To those…” he choked. Cursed and blinked hard at the light. “To those who’ve just fuckin’ left our damn arms.” It wasn’t right but he didn’t care. 

“Whenever we think of you, we feel downtroddin’.” Balls. Fuckin’ shit. Why him? Why did it have to be him? He scrubbed his eyes with his sleeve. 

“Though one day we gotta and we will—” He ground his teeth. “—we will—” Damnit! He couldn’t say it! And he wasn’t gonna! 

“ _Ma_!” he snapped, wantin’ to stomp his foot like a damn kid. Wantin’ her to take over. Hatin’ her for just a flash of a hot second for making him do this. She just watched him, light in her eyes as the jellyfish tangled in her white hair. Damnit all. He sniffed, sucked in and pushed out hard through his gills so it hurt. So he could do this.   
“Though one day we gotta and we will —let. you. go.” His voice broke on the last and he readied the cane with hands that he demanded stop tremblin’. 

“We’ll keep yer memories close-- and you’ll never be forgotten…” He opened the last jar somehow without spillin’ the damn thing over. Jellyfish rose up around them. Not as many as before and fewer names called. Namur watched them shimmering, hands fisted, throat stubbornly closed, until he saw a tiny lil’ red jellyfish scootin’ around in excited circles. 

“Ace…” he croaked. And then another jellyfish, to shiny for it’s own damn good, probably would have fussy damn hair and a fussy damn beard if it could. “…Thatch…” There were no big ones. No one that could remind him of the guy who’d taken him in. Called him his son. The best damn pirate there ever was or ever would be… but he said it anyway.   
“Pops…” and he managed to croak out a few more names. Other Whitbeards and allies they’d lost in that damn war. Didn’t matter if he knew them close or not. They were brothers just the same and deserved to be remembered. 

He finished a bit after everyone had stopped, throwin’ names into the sea, but they kept hummin’ and when he was finally done, the kids started the final verse about hope for the new generation and shit but he couldn’t even listen he was crying so damn hard but tryin’ his best to keep the noises in. 

He turned his head up to the jellyfish instead. The red one was still scootin’ around like this was the best time of its life, and inchin’ closer to Namur every time. Namur wanted to snap at it to scare it off, but didn’t think jellies could see much anyway. So he waited til it got close and gave it a big poke. 

The jelly gave him a big jolt back, singeing his finger. 

“Yowch!” Namur said, nearly dropping the hook, and some of the kids’ giggled. Namur glared at the jelly which just jellied on by like it didn’ give a damn. And then…

He laughed himself. 

It wasn just a low laugh and it still kinda hurt… 

But how could you not laugh at a snot rag of a jelly.

Namur set the butt of the long hook against the ground and watch the red jellyfish rejoin the others, and the great clouds of gold and white jellies rise up and up in the seawater. Couldn’t do this in ‘Ryugu Proper’, had to put the things in little bubbles so they could swim. They were pretty too, he guessed, but this was raw and powerful, fightin’ against the ocean itself and winnin’. Whitebeard Style.

* * * * *

Some of the jellies were still around, even after Tsumu’s big feast. Partly because of food, partly cuz of latecomers and maybe they just liked to hang around. Namur watched them swimmin’ as he sat alone on the roof, downin’ the blowfish wine which would keep him sober til it laid him flat, and watched ‘em. 

“You did good,” Ma said, coming to stand behind him. He knew it was her cuz of her voice and her bony ass knees right at shoulder height. One of ‘em thumped him in the dorsal and he grunted. 

“Ain’t gonna let ‘em go,” he said. 

“No one said you had to,” she said. “But I’m proud of you for going through it.” 

He rested his head against her legs and looked up at her. She’d gotten a lot older, and she’d only get older still. Maybe she had a long ways to go yet. And maybe…maybe she’d go tomorrow. Hell, maybe he would. Who knew in this crazy world. 

“Love you, Ma,” he said, and the whole damn thing was worth it just to see her smile like that. 

“Love you, too, lil’ snapper.”

His cheeks tinged red. He hadn’t heard that nickname since he was five. He clicked his teeth at her and she nudged him in the back fondly before saying:   
“Come back inside before you pass out and fall off the roof.” 

“Yeh, Ma,” he said, hauling himself to his feet and letting her slip a protective arm around him. 

“I’ve got your bed fixed up. You’re going to be sharing a room with Tsumu and some others so no pranking anyone in the middle of the night.”   
“Yeh, Ma.” He’d wait ‘til pre-dawn when no one was expecting it. 

“Did you have a good holiday?” she asked, once they’d successfully navigated the trap door without Namur falling on his face. He thought about it for a sec. In spite of bawling his eyes out and havin’ to sing that bit— It was nice to reconnect and he still had a few more days to see what other connectin’ he could do. 

“Yeh, Ma.” 

She grinned at him and ruffled his hair. 

“That’s my boy.”


	8. Step Into Christmas with Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Law isn't sure what the Strawhat likes about him, and frankly, he doesn't care. He has his own plans. Plans that don't involve the over-saturated commercialized hype that is Christmas. Turns out it's really damn hard to get that kid to take no for an answer. And...maybe a part of Law doesn't want to. 
> 
>  
> 
> Notes: For those interested it's set in [Remedyverse](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1136454), between the end of the past and the beginning of the present.

Law slid the exam back in the manila folder and shrugged his backpack onto his shoulder before delivering it to the grad student who sat at the front of the room. The pinched face jerkass gave Law a look that said he didn’t believe at all that Law had finished in the time allotted. 

“Are you sure?” the man asked in a nasally voice. Law dropped the folder onto his desk and strode out of the room. Yes he was sure, and so would that bastard be when he had to input 100% into his transcript. Intellectually, Law had to give him some credit as Prof. Gillus’ class was notoriously hard and he’d seen more than one person give up half way. But that little beanpole of a grad student couldn’t believe that Law had never gotten anything below a 98% and had accused him of cheating twice— though being completely unable to prove it. Mostly because Law hadn’t. 

Law had been studying anatomy since he was eight years old, and even before then he made a game of fitting organs back into his father’s old dummy. But no matter how well he knew them, he had to take bullshit pre-requisite classes to show that he knew them. He just had to remind himself that getting a stupid piece of paper from an accredited school was a key part of his plan—however much he already knew the lesson plans and could probably teach Gillus a thing or two. Though what he had to teach would be kind of illegal.   
As Law pushed out of the college of medicine building, he took note of the time on the elegant park clock that sat just off to the side, strangled with green faux tree garland things. Christmas was all over campus even though it was still a few weeks away. Law rolled his eyes at it and headed toward the student center to take one of the better tables before the place became flooded with edgy Freshmen. 

Annoying grad students aside, he couldn’t complain too much. So far his plan had been falling into place, neat brick by neat brick, and Law was satisfied. He still had a long way to go and there were still some psychos and unknowns, waiting in the wings— The unpredictable, he called them. He could never know how much they knew. What their counter plans may be. But so far, that end had been quiet for two years now and Law was starting to believe he really had managed to get undercover. 

He actually had it pretty good all things considered. His own apartment. A very furry, if effective, live-in crewmate/maid that also knew martial arts, and the rest of his crewmates nearby, acting as a sort of first warning system of things going bad—eyes all over the city. Law went into the cafeteria, pleased to see it mostly abandoned, though twitching a bit at the tenth iteration of Silver Bells that he’d heard over the course of two days alone, playing over the loudspeakers. 

Christmas. 

In a way he could relate to Scrooge. Not so much the miserly part, though he did believe in being smart with his funds, but the whole aspect of the Christmas Season. It was just a time of rampant commercialism where advertisers pandered to people’s sentimentality to get them to buy shit they couldn’t afford. At the end of the too long holiday, which started around the last week of October no matter what anyone said, the only things left were broken electronics, sad dead trees, and a lingering feeling of regret.   
Also the songs. Damn the songs. Just how many versions of Frosty the Snowman did the world need? He dug out his ipod and sighed softly as Weezer poured into his ears. It wasn’t as if he liked them or anything. They were alright. Better than the saccharine pop shit. And at least they sang about something real. 

He got out his lunch and phone, settling in for a nice relaxing period where he could mellow before the English final (another bullshit class) and check his tumblr feed. Not that he used tumblr. It was just that the rest of his crew did and he liked to see what they were up to. At the top was a post from Bepo, handle: ‘justbearingit’, with a text post talking about Sun Bears, the naming fallacy, and generally the unfair representation of ursine kind in contemporary media. Law chuckled as he read through. Bepo was the biggest damn dork. 

A shadow fell over his table and he was about to turn a glare at whoever was mouth breathing over his shoulder when the mouth breather spoke. 

“What’s a sun bear?” 

Law closed his eyes, let out a breath. He didn’t have to turn to know who it was. Luffy D. Monkey. A.k.a. the Strawhat, a.k.a the biggest pain in the ass he had ever met. They only shared World Literatures together, but ever since they were paired on a project in October, had somehow got it into his head that they were “b.f.fs”, zizzing around Law like a particularly obnoxious fly. It wasn’t even as if the Strawhat didn’t have friends. He seemed to have friends popping out of the woodwork and nearly everyone liked him for some obscure reason. Law was not one of them, so of course the Strawhat decided to flit around him. If there was a course for human symbiotic attachment, he was sure the Strawhat would be the first to sign them both up. 

“A Sun Bear is a bear that lives in Southeast Asia—” Law stopped. That was about as much he knew actually, and he was here to eat his lunch, not lecture some dumbass. He sighed again and tapped the wikipedia link that Bepo had provided before handing it up. He had been _hoping_ that the Strawhat would stand there where he was and read it through. But no. Of course not. A third sigh as the guy flopped in the seat opposite him, dropping his enormous backpack on the seat beside him and whipped out his square black hipster glasses and set them on the edge of his nose as he read. 

The glasses had always stumped Law. He didn’t look like the type who would need them. And he wasn’t entirely convinced the Strawhat did need to use them because when he did was pretty damn arbitrary— the question was, why? Why? Why the gigantic backpack? Why the Strawhat that he carried everywhere, either on his head or hanging against his back? Why was he dressed in a heavy jacket and jeans in deference to the weather and then walked around in _sandals_? And why, _why_ had Law given him his damn phone? He sighed—then reminded to stop himself doing that because it was becoming ridiculous, and focused on the Cobb Salad that Bepo had made him for lunch. It was pretty good but he peeked under bits of lettuce for stray croutons. He didn’t care what anyone said, croutons were bread. It was dried crunchy bread, but bread just the same. 

“Cool!” the Strawhat said, handing the phone back. “Why is it a falsey?” 

“Fal— You mean fallacy.” Dumbass. “And he was referring to something different.” 

“Because it looked like a bear to me,” the Strawhat said, digging in his backpack and then leaning in. It looked like the thing would swallow him, scrawny arms and all. Law opened his mouth to explain and then decided against it. He had intended to mellow before the next exam, and mellow he was damn well going to do. Trying to explain anything to the Strawhat was like beating his head against a wall. So instead he crunched his lettuce and a bit of egg and pretended he hadn’t heard. 

“Lunch time,” the Strawhat said, pulling out a small tower, wrapped in a cloth printed with smiling radishes. He untied the cloth revealing another four tiered bento, this one red lacquered with snow monkeys on it. Another mystery. Why did someone like him have stuff like that? Law watched with faint envy as the Strawhat set the tiers out on the table. Whoever the hell was making his food had a lot of time on their hands. It was mostly meat, with rice, a few assorted vegetables and some assorted fruit, but things had been _arranged_. There was a monkey made of bacon in the middle of the rice field. If it was just once, Law could understand it, but every time they ate lunch together, the Strawhat pulled out something like this. 

He was about to ask, but reigned himself in. It would invariably lead to a stupid conversation, and he wanted to mellow— not be dragged into the Strawhat’s pace. So he read Bepo’s post and then his subsequent argument with Penguin over the avant garde use of tags and whether or not it was too obscure. He rested his cheek on his fist and wondered if either of them knew what the hell they were talking about, but either way the thought amused him. 

“Whose this well-tempered snake?” said an unfamiliar voice close by. Law looked up, faintly curious, and then annoyed the when the voice repeated itself. And then a third time. What the hell? The Strawhat snapped his fingers and dove into his massive bag to pull out a phone, revealing the source of the voice. Law wasn’t going to pay attention, but it was impossible not to. The Strawhat, cheeks bulging with food, began to text, with two thumbs only—his fingers moving so fast they were almost a blur.   
“You can’t be saying anything readable,” Law said, half to himself. 

“Fi fem fo!” the Strawhat said, and Law shielded his salad from the spray of food. 

“Swallow, damnit,” he snapped. The Strawhat swallowed and glared at him over the top of his ridiculous glasses. 

“I am so!” 

“No one can text that fast and actually make sense.” Especially not with someone with as loose a grasp of spelling as this kid. 

“I can!” 

“You can not.” 

“Gimmie your phone number and I’ll show you.” 

It was bullshit and he knew it and the Strawhat had to know it, too. But fine. Law would be o.k. with calling him on it. He wrote down his number on a napkin and slid it over. To no one’s amazement, the Strawhat slowed down as he presumably put the number into his phone. Ha. Intelligible his ass. It was probably just chat speak and short cuts. Law braced himself for a wall of numbers for words and copious amounts of emoji.

The Strawhat shifted, rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck. Law rolled his eyes and sat back, holding his phone with one hand and crossing his other arm over his stomach, waiting in bland anticipation. 

Suddenly the air was full of the bubble pops of new text. Good God.

/I can so text!/   
/And people can read it to/   
/I’m really gud/   
/and fast!/  
/and I can capltize and everything/  
/and even spell big words/  
/like supercalifragilisticexpialidocious/ 

“What? That’s not even a word!” 

/Text me stupid/ The Strawhat was glaring at him. 

“I’m literally two feet away from you,” Law said.

/Text me./ 

“No!” 

/Text me. /  
/Text me./   
/Text me./ 

Of all the—

—/Alright! What the hell do/—

/To slow/

—/Why did you want me to text yo/—

/To slow/

-/Its too stupid!/—

/It’s not stupid!/

-/No. I meant that/- 

/To slow./

“Goddamnit, Strawhat, let me finish a thought!” he snapped. The Strawhat waited. Law clenched his teeth and bent over the phone, prepared to go as fast as he could when it occurred to him what he just did. Son of a— 

“You’re really slow,” the Strawhat said. Law wished it wasn’t beneath him to kick him under the table. He thought of moving tables, but he refused to let the Strawhat frighten him off from the spot that he picked out. Law set his phone to the side, turning it off to make a damn point and went back to eating his salad.   
The Strawhat set his phone aside and put the glasses on top of it before chugging something from a plastic thermos that Law could only pray didn’t contain immense amount of sugar. The Strawhat set it down, wiping his mouth with his sleeve like he was ten. 

“You have a napkin right in front of you,” Law said with a sigh.

“I don’t wanna use that one.” 

“Why not?” 

“It has your number on it.” 

Was he actually serious? Why was Law feeling even the slightest bit touched by this? Feeling like an irritated older brother he gave the Strawhat a new damn napkin and watched him wipe his mouth with it, even though there was no reason to at the moment.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” the Strawhat asked. 

“What?” Where the hell did that come from? “Nothing,” he said before the Strawhat could repeat himself. 

“Wanna come hang out with me?” 

Okay that… It was time to lay this on the line. 

“Just because we were on a group project once doesn’t mean we’re friends.” Among other things, if the kid was involved anymore with him, he ran into the risk of getting into danger— maybe even more danger than Law could save him from should things go South. The Strawhat just stared at him, expression unreadable. Was he upset? Or had he just spaced out? It was impossible to tell.

“Did you hear me?” Law said. 

“Yeah.” 

“So you understand.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Good.” 

The Strawhat ate a pretzel stick. 

“Wanna come?” 

Law only just caught himself from face palming. He was not going to follow the example of a ridiculous meme, no matter how strong the urge was. Did he really understand at all? Sometimes the dumbass didn’t seem to understand anything other than whatever weird duologue was running in his own head. 

“Why do you want me to come hang out anyway?” Law said, hoping maybe he could find a way to nip this off at the bud. 

“Ahh I won’t get to see you next semester, and it’s kind of a bummer. So I thought we could hang out and put up decorations and eat cookies and stuff.” 

Why did the Strawhat even want to? They weren’t friends. Out of all the people the Strawhat had to hang out with, why the hell had he fixated on Law? 

“I don’t do Christmas,” Law said. “At all. Or any other Holiday,” he said before that could rear its ugly head. “Also I have a lot of studying to do.” 

“Can I come hang out with you?” 

This time Law did put a hand to his face. It was like one step forward, two steps back. He had the wild dangerous thought of telling the Strawhat his past and all the dangers that lurked in the wings— but he wasn’t that out of is mind yet. 

“Strawhat-ya…” 

“Just one day,” the Strawhat said. “Just Christmas.”

“Just Christmas?” Law repeated, looking at him. “Then you won’t bug me for the rest of the month?” He wouldn’t say year. That would be too cruel. And anyway seeing him around campus once in a while wouldn’t be too terribly bad he guessed. They could even have lunch once in a while. 

The Strawhat nodded. 

“But we’re not going to celebrate, we’re going to study,” Law said, just to make sure he wouldn’t be dragged into anything crazy. 

“Okay.” 

Even with that agreement it took Law a moment to think about it. To consider all the ramifications of this. For the most part it seemed relatively harmless, and would keep the kid off his back. He watched the Strawhat dump the rest of the bento in his mouth and start to pack it back up, tying up the cloth with ease before stuffing it in the behemoth of his backpack. 

“Alright,” Law said, putting the plastic lid back on his salad. “Give me a second and I’ll give you my number.” He was loathe to do it because that would mean that the Strawhat could—

—now wait just a damn minute. 

“Shishishi You’re kinda airheaded, huh?” the Strawhat said, waving the damn napkin in the air. He shouldn’t’ve-- What had possessed him to— And wait, what?!

“Who are _you_ calling airheaded?!” He’d just been caught off guard, damnit! That was all. 

“You.” The Strawhat said with a grin as he hoisted his backpack onto his narrow shoulders. “See you at the exam!” And he walked out, his sandals tapping against the floor. Law stared after him, then massaged his temple. What the hell had he just gotten himself into? Well it didn’t matter. In fact, forget it. He wouldn’t see the kid after today except for Christmas. Then they’d sit, they’d study and that would be the end of it. Of that he was sure.

\o/\o/

Law dumped the cookies on the plate and wondered again what the hell he’d gotten himself into. As he predicted, his phone had buzzed with a text from the Strawhat at least twice a day. Oddly enough, Law could never tell if they were directed at him. Usually it was just attached pictures of food, or random places around town. Sometimes with commentary like: ‘this looks delisious’ or ‘yesterday I saw a seagull poop here’ or even ‘kouch of the future Pirate King of the World with matching Usopp.’

He’d been able to brush them off at first, but then he’d found himself interested in spite of himself, trying to guess the food or match the locations. More than once he’d been tempted to reply, at least to correct the Strawhat’s spelling, or introduce him to a thing called a comma. He had resisted the temptation, though it did make him wonder if the Strawhat actually knew what he was doing. 

Despite all that nonsense, what they had agreed on had completely slipped Law’s mind until a few hours when the kid had texted him with just a simple message, asking if he could still come over. Law had agreed, since he always kept his word if he meant it, then hurriedly packed off Bepo to Shachi’s apartment, because a seven foot talking polar bear in his living room was kind of hard to explain. Then he realized he had nothing for the kid to eat and he’d dickered over what to do about that for a while until buying some oreos at the Rite Aide across the street. It had been a sacrifice. He hated those kinds of stores. 

But now he was standing with an empty pack of double stuff chocolate mint and too many damn words Oreos, stuff he didn’t even eat, with the sugar content to rile up a small nation and wondered what the hell he was doing with his life . Not his life, he reminded himself. One day. And he would tell the Strawhat to take him off the phone list, too. Law couldn’t afford attachment. Not at this juncture. He threw the package away and dusted off his hands. He set the plate on the living room table, and was wondering if there was anything he could give the Strawhat to drink to counteract the sugar rush when there was a knock on the door. 

Law glanced over, crossing toward it and running his fingers over the drawer of the table next to it. He pulled the coat aside with his free hand and peered into the peephole. The Strawhat was at the door, wearing a tacky red sweater with reindeer on it, seeming relaxed and rocking on the balls of his feet. There was no one around him that Law could see . He opened the door, letting the Strawhat and his mammoth bookbag into the room. There wasn’t much in it right now and it looked sad and deflated like a withered peach pit.   
“This is your place, huh?” the Strawhat said. “It looks pretty boring.” 

Law rolled his eyes and shut the door behind the kid, bolting it for good measure. It isn’t supposed to be interesting, he wanted to say. But that would require an explanation that this was just a safe house which meant he needed to be able to move quickly— and why did he always have the compulsion to share too much information. 

“Sit,” Law said, pointing to the kitchen table. “You’ve got two hours and I hope you can study quietly.” 

“Studying is lame,” the Strawhat said with a pout. “Don’t you wanna do something cooler like go to the movies or fly paper airplanes off the roof?” 

Why did paper airplanes sound interesting? They really shouldn’t. 

“Sit or leave,” Law said, because he was not going to get sucked into the Strawhat’s pace. He headed toward the kitchen for the cookies, but decided that he’d just thrust those into the kid’s hands on the way out and let the world deal with it. So for now he hid them and decided to make some tea. 

“Want tea, Strawhat-ya?” he called. 

“Okay! Hey, where’s your extension cord.” 

“Should be one in the closet,” Law said, getting the kettle down. It was only when he had it filled with water and on the stove did he wonder what the hell the Strawhat wanted with an extension cord. He peeked out into the living room and sighed. There was a tiny revolving Christmas tree on the table now, flickering with fiber optics. He was about to explain _again_ how he didn’t do Christmas, but there was something charming about the little tree and its strange skull and crossbones (and strawhatted) tree topper. 

The Strawhat himself didn’t even seem to notice Law was looking. Instead he had a textbook spread open on the table with his nose practically pressed to the page. He was looking at it with one eye, Law noticed, and occasionally scooting his nose back and forth. 

“Forget your glasses?” Law asked.

“Nah, but I don’t need ‘em,” the Strawhat said. Didn’t need them? What? Law stared at him for a moment— and had to ask. 

“Then why are you doing that?” 

“It’s more interesting this way.” The Strawhat heaved a heavy sigh. “But there’s nothing interesting about politics.” He smeared his face back and forth. “I don’t caare.” 

“Stop whining,” Law said, folding his arms and resting his hip against the door. “What are you, five?” 

“Twenty!” Strawhat said, making a peace sign. 

“Bullshit.” 

“You’re bullshit,” the Strawhat said, puffing his cheeks out like a schoolkid. And then: “By the way, can I have some snacks?” 

So much for saving the cookies for later. Law dropped three into a bowl and put it on the table. The tea was ready by this time so he poured that into two mugs, with a little honey but no sugar. When he came back, the Strawhat was reading from a normal distance, but licking the filling off a cookie half which came away in giant chunks. Law snorted to himself. Nineteen his ass. The only reason he had to believe it was for some reason or another, this punk had made it into college to begin with. 

Well— it was what it was. He was not going to spend this entire time dwelling on the Strawhat. He dug out his neurochemistry textbook and a highlighter, determined to understand everything before the class started in January. He had just gotten to “the dynamic interdependence of genes and the environment and that of neuronal and neuroglial cells” when the Strawhat began humming some obnoxious Christmas Carol or the other that Law refused to put a name to. 

“You’re humming,” he said. 

“Sorry,” the Strawhat said and faceplanted into his book. Law looked at the back of his scruffy head and his ears sticking out on either side. He began humming again, voice muffled by the book. Law rested his cheek on his knuckles, watching him. He really didn’t get it at all. 

“Don’t tell me the only reason you wanted to see me is because of that project we did once.” 

“Yeah” the Strawhat lifted his head from the book, a smudge of ink on the end of his nose. “You really helped me out back then. It was super hard. And you brought me lunch.” 

“Over such a simple thing?” he breathed a laugh and prodded the Strawhat in the forehead with the capped highlighter. “Look, Strawhat-ya, I just wanted to get through it. Same as you. The lunch was just a whim of mine. Don’t read to much into it.” 

“I wanna be your friend anyway, even if you don’t wanna be mine. That’s okay.” 

What kind of phrase was that? Law knew he wasn’t desperate for friendship. 

“It’s not okay. Aren’t you going to consider what I feel about the matter?” 

“Shishishi Nope!” 

What the hell? How could he just say a statement like that and laugh about it? Law tapped the highlighter against his textbook, glaring at the Strawhat with pursed lips. Finally flipped the highlighter into the air a short distance and caught it again. So it came to this. Well if it had to, it had to. 

“I’m a pretty dangerous guy, Strawhat-ya,” Law said. “You’d better take that seriously.” He looked up to gauge a reaction and was surprised to find Luffy grinning. But there was nothing childlike or happy-go-lucky about it. This grin had an _edge_. 

“So am I,” the Strawhat said.

“Like I’d believe that.” 

The Strawhat’s grinned widened as curled his hand into a fist and flexed his arm.

“Want to take me on?” 

Even underneath the sweater Law could see the faint bulge of muscle. It wasn’t really that impressive just to look at, but something in him woke up to that idea, wanting to test him out. Personally he preferred not to get in close if he didn’t have to, but to beat someone that was probably pure raw energy with just his tactics and his smarts—   
Ugh and he was being pulled right down the drain without even realizing it. With _wanting_ it even. Supposing the Strawhat _could_ put up a fight, it would only draw attention to himself which was the last thing Law needed. For now the blocks were falling in place. Law had contingency plans if things went bad. But there was going bad and then there was everything falling to pieces around him and he was _sure_ , knowing just as he knew the sky was blue, that the Strawhat would be the start of that. 

“No,” Law said, closing the neurochemistry book with a thud. The Strawhat deflated a bit and Law knew he could probably get him out of his apartment with a fight or just being an ass to him. But he didn’t want to do that at this juncture, and he wasn’t going to let anyone force his hand or his voice. 

“What would you be doing if you weren’t here?” Law said. “At a party of some sort?” 

“Yeah.” The Strawhat ran his finger in slow sad circles around the table. Pouting. Twenty damn years old. Law watched him. It was like there was a precipice either way he turned. His only choices were to step over it or to stay where he was. But if he had to choose, he’d choose the one with the shorter drop. For now. 

“Let’s go,” he said, feeling a twinge of apprehension even as he said it. The Strawhat looked up. 

“Go?” 

“To your party. Let’s go. Let’s do it.” He gave the Strawhat a bland look. “I’ll even try to crack a smile.” Though he was joking at that bit. The Strawhat laughed, suddenly aglow with cheer. 

“You don’t gotta try _that_ hard.” 

“It was a jo—” Law started through clenched teeth but the Strawhat was already bounding to his feet, dumping the rest of the cookies in his mouth and then grabbed Law’s arm.

“Let’s go!” he said, fairly tugging Law off his chair and half dragging him across the room before Law could put a stop to it. 

“Oi! Hey! Slow down, damnit! Let me at least get my coat!” he said. Strawhat got it off the hook by the door, and before Law knew it it was wrapped around his shoulders , and the Strawhat was shoving him out the door before he’d even grabbed his keys. He was already beginning to regret this.

\o/\o/

The party happened to in a modest ground floor apartment in an nondescript apartment building on the east side of town. Law didn’t even have a chance to read the name on the door before the Strawhat flung it open and Christmas hit him right in the face.

“Good God,” he breathed. There were two trees on either end of the room, dripping with lights, one of which turned and was basically a larger model of the tree still at his apartment. There were garlands everywhere. Lights everywhere. Bells. Santas of a dizzying array of sizes and styles. And a menorah sitting on the hearth, all eight candles flickering. 

And people. A lot of people. At least seven of them in the tiny sitting room alone, and one of them appeared to be Zoro Roronoa who had gained somewhat of a large reputation in the circuit. Law didn’t follow the circuit that much and even _he_ had heard of him. 

“Why do you have Zoro Roronoa sitting on your couch?” Law murmured, the question out of his mouth before he even knew it was there.   
“That’s his spot. It’s tradition. Hey guys! This is Torao!” 

What?

“Hi, Torao,” came a ragged chorus. 

_What._

“Want some shitty gingerbread men?” said a blond man. “They just came out of the oven.”

“Uh.” 

“I’ll have one!” said a big muscled kid with some sort of chronic hair growth disease and a voice that was oddly high for his frame. 

“Me, too, me too!” the Strawhat said, squashing Law down onto the couch beside Roronoa who grunted and handed him a beer. 

“I wasn’t talking to you shit heads.” 

“Yeah, let him get a superr word in edgewise,” said an enormous blue haired man who pointed at Law. “Hey, there, bro Torao. Pull my finger.” 

“I wouldn’t do it,” Roronoa said. 

“Ah, comon' that's not even fair," the blue haired man said, but Roronoa just shrugged.

“If you fart in this house one more time, Franky, I swear to god,” said an orange haired woman. 

“Do you want shitty gingerbread or not?” said the blond.

“Yeah give him some!” the Strawhat said. 

“Me too, me too!” said the hairy kid. 

“I dunno there might not be enough gingerbread to go around,” said a long nosed man. “It should obviously go to the smartest, other than Robin of course.” 

“No way! I’ll fight you for it,” the Strawhat said. 

“Do you challenge me?!” said the long nosed man. 

“I challenge you!” 

“You’re not going to beat me at Holiday DDR! The great Captain Usopp will never be conquered!” 

“Except for the last time and the time before,” said a slender man with an afro, sitting in a corner. “It was so terrible, I could barely look! Ah, but then, lucky for me I’m blind~ Yohohohoho.” 

"You shut up!" snapped the longnosed man. 

“But hey, I want Torao to get gingerbread, too!” the Strawhat said. 

“Well we’ll have to fight over whose share of bread he gets,” the longnose said. 

“Not mine,” the hairy kid said. 

“Everyone can have some gingerbread!” the blond said, lighting up a cigarette. “I made enough for an entire shitty army and then some." 

“ _I don’t like bread!_ ” he had meant to say it loud but he hadn’t meant to shout. Which he evidently had. The room grew silent for about two seconds before the chatter resumed again, this time the dance battle over someone who would then get to eat his share. It was crazy. How could you think in this place? Roronoa reached over and twisted off the cap of Law’s beer and Law didn’t know whether to thank him or hate him especially since he wasn’t much of a drinker, but wondered if he should be to get through this night. 

“Hey, Torao,” the Strawhat said, turning to him as the TV flared to life and uptempo Christmas Carols jangled through the room. “Wanna play?” 

The question of the damn hour. He looked at the beer, looked at the Strawhat, took a tiny sip, then set it aside and stood. 

“Why the hell not.” 

If he was already here, he might as well go all the way.


	9. Happy Holidays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a trip into Goa, Sabo seems upset, but Ace can't figure out why. He can't really change Sabo's past. Nor can he change Sabo's feelings on the matter. But what he and Luffy want more than anything is to see their brother happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is in the same 'canon' as [Chapter Six](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2705831/chapters/6136496)

Ace darted through the alleyways, adjusting the brown bag that held his haul under his arm and vaulting over a crumbling brick wall into the connected alley beyond. He could hear the shouts of the peacekeepers boiling from a few streets beyond him and grinned. Bastards would never catch him. He picked up his speed just for the hell of it, going three alleys down and two over. Some adult with a ragged jacket and a knife loomed in his way, leering. 

“Hey, kid, what’s—” 

Ace whacked the pipe into the man’s stomach, then jumped off his head as he crumpled, to land on a stone stairwell beyond it which he jogged down. Sabo was waiting in a sheltered doorway, crouched with his own bag, by his feet, unopened. He grinned as Ace came to a stop in front of him, his breath puffing in the chill air. 

“What did you get?” Sabo said in a low voice. Ace looked over his shoulder and, seeing the way was clear, crouched in front of Sabo so his back would hide what they were doing from any passers by and opened his bag. It wasn’t bad. Some fifty thousand beri, a couple of gold pocket watches, a small cache of blue pearls he’d snicked right from the stand and seven rings. 

“You were right about today,” Ace said. People were walking around more loaded than usual, with plenty of flashy jewelry, men and women alike. 

“Great, right? I didn’t get that much.” He looked sheepish about it but Ace shrugged. 

“Don’t worry about it.” It wasn’t his fault he’d had to stay in the lower quarter. With his asshole of a father prowling around in the richer places, he couldn’t afford to be seen. Ace was glad he hadn’t seen the guy himself or he’d be really tempted to put a pipe to his teeth. 

“Where’s Luffy?” Sabo asked as Ace was tying up the bag. Ace looked up. 

“I thought he was with you.” 

“Me? Why would he be with me? I thought he was with _you_.” 

There was a moment of silence then they both sighed at once, dropping their heads. Damn pest. Where the hell had he got off to? 

“One day we’ve gotta get a leash,” Ace said, knotting the bag to the end of his pipe. 

“He’d probably slip out of it.” 

Ace grunted. Yeah. Slip out of it, or cry, or ask incessant questions, or try to fight them or whatever else it went through his head to do. Anyway, he wasn’t really serious. They were free, so no ropes, just trying to find him when he wandered off and punching him in the head so he wouldn’t do it again. 

“We should probably find him before someone else does,” Sabo said, scratching his cheek. More shouts from the peacekeepers and as much as it had made Ace laugh before, now annoyed him just as much. 

“I kind of got spotted,” he said, folding his arms. Not that they could usually just walk around this area as they were in any case, but with those guys out in force, they’d have to be doubly careful. 

“Let’s hurry,” Sabo said, pulling the long cloak from his bag. They tied Sabo’s loot to his own pipe and Ace held them both as Sabo climbed onto his shoulders and tied the cloak around his neck. The cloak puddled and dragged on the ground around them. Man, they were really gonna stand out. 

“You need to grow more,” Sabo said. Ace scowled. 

“You do, too,” he said, pinching Sabo’s leg. He wasn’t that short anyway. If Sabo was a little taller the cloak would be off the ground!

“Ow! Knock it off!” Sabo knocked him in the head. Ace was tempted to head butt him in the stomach when he heard the peacekeepers again, this time the sound of their feet on the ground. 

“Let’s get going,” he said. Sabo nodded and wrapped the coat around them, cloaking Ace in darkness. He could see a little through the small slit, but only enough to know where he was going and not trip on anything or bump into anyone.

They’d better find Luffy soon because if they got caught or lost their loot, Ace was gonna be pissed. If someone had hurt Luffy, he was going to be even more pissed. He tried not to move too quickly, though his legs were burning to kick something, and instead held onto the pipes with one hand and Sabo’s leg with the other.

“There he is,” Sabo murmured. “Go left.” 

“What is he doing? Idiot brat,” Ace said under his breath as he followed Sabo’s directions. When he saw Luffy, his baby brother was sitting on the outskirts of a bunch of other kids, looking scruffy and out of place—though Ace tried not to pay attention to that. He was watching something intently. Ace pulled aside the cloak a tiny bit to peek and saw that a stage had been set up and there were people doing puppets behind it. The puppets were two rich looking people, talking about a little white and black square hanging above them in squeaky voices. 

Sabo nudged his shoulder and Ace realized he’d stopped. He let the cloak fall back in place and moved them closer. The came to loom over Luffy, who didn’t seem to notice them, but a few of the kids looked up and were eyeing them strangely. Sabo cleared his throat and said in a deep voice. 

“It’s time to go home.” 

Luffy didn’t look back. Even more kids were looking now and probably noticing how much the cloak puddled on the ground. Ace moved a little closer than risked a quick kick to Luffy’s butt. That got his attention. 

“Hey!” he said, so loud even the puppet show stopped. Then turned and looked at them, breaking into a wide stupid grin. “Yo! Hey this show is awesome!” 

“That’s good,” Sabo said in a measured low voice, but Ace could hear the strain in it. “But it’s time to go home.” 

“The show’s not done!” 

There were the sound of more booted feet that sounded close, even if Ace couldn’t tell how close. He gritted his teeth, before reaching out and snagging Luffy’s arm,turning quickly and nearly tripping on the cloak as he tried to stride away. Sabo yelped and nearly lost his balance, but clung on by grabbing Ace’s hair. 

“Ow!” 

“Sorry,” Sabo said. 

“But it’s a really cool show!” Luffy protested as Ace pulled at him. “It has a king and some pirates.” 

Pirates?

No. Now wasn’t the time. 

“Shut up,” Ace hissed, shaking his arm. And then: “Tell us later.” 

Luffy just grinned his big stupid grin but shut up thankfully as they ducked into an alley. There was some reshuffling of places as Ace took the top spot, sitting on Luffy’s small squashy shoulders with Sabo grunting at the bottom. 

Though as they went out at a slower pace, he wished he was walking still, because he really wanted to know that story had been about.

~ooo~

“So there was this king, right?” Luffy said as they walked through the Grey Terminal toward home. “Hey, we’re going to have lunch soon, aren’t we?”

“Of course we’re going to have lunch, stupid,” Ace said, annoyed. “Don’t just stop at the beginning of the story.” 

“Okay. So there was this king right? And every winter he kept getting attacked by pirates cuz it was really dark and they could sneak in.” 

“Sounds like fun,” Ace said, smirking. Luffy picked up a wheel and started rolling it under his hand as he walked. 

“Yeah! Except they would murder people and stuff and no one could do anything about it. And he was really sad. Then one day this bandit showed up.” 

“It wasn’t a bandit,” Sabo said in a low voice. Ace glanced at him and was surprised to see his brother’s shadowed face. He’d been kind of in a weird mood since they’d left the walled city. Ace didn’t know what it meant but he didn’t like it. 

“Ehh? He seemed like a bandit.” 

“Can’t argue that,” Sabo said, again with that weird glum tone. Ace glanced at him again but still couldn’t guess and then at Luffy who was looking at Sabo and then at Ace with big eyes, as if expecting Ace to have an answer. Well he didn’t. But if Sabo didn’t snap out of it or tell them what was bothering him, Ace was gonna punch him.

“Who cares what he was?” Ace said, folding his arms behind his head. “What happened next?” 

“Um…the god bandit showed up and he had a whole bunch of paper lights and food and presents and stuff cuz everyone was pretty poor and hungry…but to get it the King had to go on an adventure and get something. So he did and came back but the god bandit gave him only one light and one food and one present and said he had to go and come back again. And he’d have to do it for every light he wanted.” 

“He sounds like an asshole,” Ace grumbled. Luffy nodded. 

“I wanted to punch him!” and she smacked his tiny fist into his tiny hand. Ace grinned and mushed his stupid straw hat down over his head. 

“Sounds good, Lu. A puppet is about your speed.” 

“Hey you take that back, jerk!” Luffy said, kicking at his ankles. But Ace avoided him easily. 

“Take what back? You can’t even lay a hit on me,” Ace said, moving behind Luffy and screwing his knuckles against Luffy’s temples. “A puppet you might have a chance.” 

“I’ll kick your butt, Ace!” Luffy said, flailing around and then jumping up and managing to clock Ace’s chin with his hard ass head. Ace scowled and kicked him in the butt sending bouncing against a torn mattress. 

“You couldn’t even kick your own butt,” Ace said with a laugh. Luffy twisted on the mattress, scowling at him, then pushed his hat down and pulled his arm back. 

“Gum Gum no Pistol!” he shouted. Ace moved easily out of the way and grabbed the arm before Luffy could pull it back. 

“Hey, Sabo! Wanna tie him to a tree and use him as bear bait?” 

“What? Nooo!” Luffy said, trying to pull his arm back. 

“Or maybe use him to knock down bee hives!” 

But Luffy didn’t react. He was looking at something over Ace’s shoulder. 

“Sabo,” Luffy murmured. Then: “Oi, Sabo!” 

Ace looked, too, and saw him walking away, and probably had been walking since Ace had stopped considering how far he was. Ace clenched his teeth, something hot lighting in his belly. What was this about? Why was he still going even when they were calling for him. He wasn’t going to go chasing after him.

“Sabo!” Ace snapped and when he still didn’t turn around, picked up a rock and chucked it at his head. It thwocked him in the back of the neck. That got his attention. Sabo stumbled, hat falling to the ground and turned, clutching at his neck and fingers coming away with blood that he goggled at. But it was just a scratch so Ace wasn't worried.

“Ah, what the hell did you do that for?” Sabo snapped.  
“Where the hell are you going?” he snapped back. 

“Ace was calling you!” Luffy said that big mouth. He _had_ been, but that wasn’t the point.

“Oh…” Sabo rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. “Sorry I didn’t hear.” 

Okay that was it. Ace tromped over to Sabo and started to pull at his stupid cheeks. 

“Agh! Cut it out!” Sabo said, pulling at Ace’s cheeks back.

“Tell us what’s wrong already, you idiot!” Ace snarled. 

“Are you scared of puppets?” Luffy piped up. “They have people’s hands inside them, you know. Makino showed me.” 

“I’m not afraid of puppets,” Sabo said, shoving Ace’s hands away. “I just…” he sighed. “I just don’t like the holiday it’s about.” 

“Oooh,” Luffy said. Then raised his hand. “What’s a holiday?” 

“It’s another way to say festival, stupid,” Ace said, and because he was still a little mad, popped Luffy on the head. 

“Hey!” Luffy said grumpily, stuffing his hat on his head and glowering. Ace ignored him. Sabo scratched his cheek. 

“Actually I think holidays and festivals are different. Maybe holidays are longer?” 

“What happens in it?” Luffy said, asking all the dumb questions Ace wanted to know but didn’t want to ask to find out. 

“Eh, you know… People hang up paper lanterns and have feasts and give presents and stuff.” Sabo said it like it was no big deal, but Ace thought it was pretty exciting. He kept his mouth in a serious line but Luffy seemed to have expanded as Sabo spoke, his mouth widening in a huge smile and stars dancing in his eyes. 

“It sounds awesome!” Luffy crowed. “Hey! Let’s go do it!” 

“No, it’s not awesome!” Sabo said. “It’s stupid. It sounds great but it isn’t.” 

“Why not? Do you not get lights or presents or meat?” 

“Well yeah you get those things but…” 

“So I wanna do it!” Luffy punched both fists in the air. “Let’s have fun!” 

“You can’t do it, Luffy!” Sabo said, his own hands balling into fists and Ace let his arms drop to his sides, feeling tension rise in the air. 

“I wanna do it!” 

“You _can’t_.” 

“Why not?!” 

“ _Because you’re not a noble!_ ” Sabo shouted. Silence fell. Luffy stared at him. Man, this ran _deep_. Ace didn’t really know why Sabo wouldn’t like such a cool thing, but that didn’t matter. He briefly checked up on Luffy whose head was down and his fists trembling, then picked up Sabo’s hat, brushing off the top and carefully setting it back on his head. He didn’t know what to say about it but maybe saying nothing was okay.

“Luffy…” Sabo said. 

“It sounds cool…” Luffy said in a voice that sounded like he was going to cry. Ace sighed. This wasn’t something to cry about, he wanted to say. It was because Sabo was hurt, not because he wanted to hurt anyone. 

“Yeah…it does,” Sabo said with a false smile. “Haha man I got pretty weird there huh? Who cares about nobles right? We can do it if we want.” 

“It sounds cool… but I don’t want to do it if you hate it, Sabo!” Luffy said, then sniffed hard and wiped his eyes. “I don’t want you to be mad!” 

“Come on, now, I’m not mad,” Sabo said, holding up his hands but seeming relieved all the same. Ace smiled. Couldn’t help it really. 

“Really?” Luffy looked up at Sabo. “Not mad or sad or anything?” 

“What? No way. I’m fine.” 

Ace shifted the pipe to the back of his neck, hanging his hands over it and walked away so he wouldn’t have to pop Luffy one for crying like a baby, even if he was smiling at the same time. 

“That makes me happy!” Luffy said. 

“Alright, okay,” Sabo said with a laugh. 

“If you losers don’t hurry up I’m going to eat all the lunch without you,” Ace said, because enough was damn well enough. 

“No way! Wait up!” Luffy bellowed and came running up to his side. Sabo caught up on his other side. He didn’t look angry anymore, but he didn’t seem alright either. Well, maybe some time away from the city would help.

~ooo~

Luffy was up to something. What, Ace wasn’t so sure about, but he’d set something heavy on the trapdoor of the treehouse and demanded that no one come in. He’d wanted to come in anyway just to spite him, but there was something about being yelled at by a seven-year-old with paper bits glued to his face that made him stay put.

Instead he rested against the curve of a branch, chewing on a maple twig and glancing at the swollen white clouds. It was gonna snow again soon. He could smell it in the air. There was the thunk of metal against earth and he looked down to see Sabo still sitting where he’d placed himself when they’d decided to wait it out. The pipe that had been propped up against the tree had fallen. Sabo sat with his chin on his knees, making no move to pull it up, and maybe not even know it had fell. 

He’d been in this kind of mood for a few days now. Ace chewed the stick. Ace understood it, but it still pissed him off. He wanted to hurt anyone who had made Sabo like this, but he had a sense there wasn’t something he could hurt and that was even more annoying. 

Ace jumped down and sat next to him. Sabo didn’t even glance at him and that was just _really_ annoying. What was it with him and ignoring people who were trying to make him feel better. 

“Tch.” Ace leaned back against the tree, grinding the twig in his teeth. “How long are you gonna whine about this shit, Sabo?” 

“Oh shut up, Ace,” Sabo said with a long sigh, thumping his own back against a tree. “You wouldn’t understand something like this.” 

“Sorry for being out of your league,” Ace said, stuffing his hands in his pockets and closing his eyes so he wouldn’t look at Sabo and want to throttle him.  
“What? Where did you— I didn’t— Argh. Okay, I’m sorry. But you haven’t _been_ through it, alright?” 

“No, you’re right.” Ace opened his eyes and glared up through the tangle of skeleton branches. “I don’t have a damned clue. But I don’t care about it either.” 

“Well _I_ care about it!” Sabo snapped. 

“Then you’re an idiot,” Ace said. 

“I am not! Stop talking like it doesn’t matter!” Sabo said, balling his hand into a fist.

“It doesn’t.” 

Sabo made a strangled angry noise and threw a punch at him. Ace grabbed his wrist before it could connect and turned his head to spit the stick out before looking Sabo in the eyes. 

“Why does it matter? Tell me! You’re not a noble anymore! You’re a pirate. You’re my brother. _Our_ brother. Who cares what those assholes did? You’re _free_ now, aren’t you?” 

“I know that! I know but…” Sabo clenched his teeth and scrubbed his hand over his face. Then he seemed to slump a little and knocked his fist against his forehead. “I’m being dumb. I know. I keep telling myself that but I can’t make myself believe it. Stupid, huh?” 

It was— It was deep. Ace wanted to _do_ something about it. To say something or— get him into a fight so he’d forget about it or— or hell he didn’t know. He just wanted to make it better. To erase the history that hurt him like that. Ace let go of him and folded his arms. 

“Yeah well if you’re going to be sad about it, don’t do it around me.” That might make Sabo work harder to— to—not feel those things maybe or something. He didn’t know!  
“Right, I’ll keep that in mind,” Sabo said, and Ace had the feeling he’d failed somewhere, somehow. Maybe even made it worse. He clenched his hands a little. Why couldn’t he do it right? Why couldn’t he fix it? Was there really something wrong with him? 

Well, maybe that’s just who he was. Someone who could be rough and scary and not much else, but he could be himself as hard as he could because that was his own dream and freedom. To prove to everyone that— that it didn’t matter what they thought. 

Except it kind of mattered with Sabo  
.  
Damnit.

He passed a hand over his forehead, twisting his fingers in his hair and stared at the ground. Shit shit shit. Why couldn’t he just say the right things to the people that mattered?

“I don’t like to see you upset either, dipshit,” he finally managed, his own voice hoarse. 

“I know…” Sabo said, a voice of defeat. But then a little brighter. “You said a nice thing, Ace. I’m proud.” 

“Shut up,” Ace said, swinging a punch at him. Sabo grinned and dodged out of the way, holding onto his hat. Ace smirked a little. That was a little better. 

A gigantic crash from above made him leap to his feet in alarm, grabbing the pipe. There was nothing huge coming after him, but there was a puff of dust coming from the tree house window. 

“Oi, Luffy!” he called out. “You idiot! What are you doing up there?” 

“It’s okay!” Luffy called. “Come up now!” and there was a loud scrape like something being moved. Ace looked at Sabo, who shrugged. Ace glanced up at the tree house again, not sure if he even wanted to know— but might as well. 

Steeling himself, he climbed up and pushed open the trap door into…well…an art explosion…sort of. Papers with scribbles of weird faces plastered the walls and there were chains of cutout…things…hanging along the walls, one of the chains falling down. There was a sake bottle sitting on the table with their cups around it and bowls filled with something that was either chocolate pudding or mud. 

Luffy was standing on the rock he must have hauled up to the treehouse to block the door. His face was bruised and smudged with grass and dirt and there were cuts all over his fingers and a trail of black paint across his nose. He was proudly holding up a scrap of sail cloth with the words:

‘Pyrat ~~Partee~~ Holeedaye’ written on it. 

“Shishishi It’s a party!” Luffy said with a gigantic grin. “I mean…a holiday!” 

“Great job, Lu,” said Sabo with a kind of smile that showed he wasn’t sure what to think about it either. “Uh…what are these?” and he pointed at the faces on the wall. 

“Pirate flags!” Luffy said. 

They barely looked human. Ace wondered over to the pudding and stared into the cups. He was kind of hungry but the eternal question. Mud or chocolate. Mud or chocolate. Luffy could have gotten chocolate from Dadan or Makino, so that was always a possibility. 

“And those?” Sabo said, pointing to the cut outs.

“Skull and cross bones!” said Luffy proudly. Was that what they were? Ace twisted his mouth to the side in thought and decided to take the risk. He stuck his finger in the putting and then put it in his mouth. 

_Damnit._

“Pudding?” Sabo asked. 

“Mud!” 

Ace felt a vein popping on his head. _He couldn’t have said that before?_

“Is it tasty, Ace?” Sabo said, sounding on the verge of cracking up. 

“Hahaha You’re not supposed to eat it, dummy!” Luffy said, pointing at him and laughing. “It’s just pretend!” 

Cracking their heads together felt _really_ good. 

Ace dusted off his hands and sat at the table, taking a careful sniff of the sake bottle. It smelled a little like sake but when he took a careful taste, realized it was water. Oh well. 

“Are we going to party or what?” he said cheerfully, pouring the water for all of them. 

“Ace, you’re mean,” Luffy croaked. 

“Really mean,” Sabo said. Ace glowered at them where they were still sitting on the floor, clutching their heads. 

“Shut up, you pansies!” he snapped. 

“I’m not a pansy, Portgas!” Sabo said, rising to his feet, hands into fists.

“Me either!” Luffy said in a matching pose. Ace snorted and looked away, taking a sip of the water.

“Whatever. You’d both cry over cereal.” 

They tackled him.

 

A few minutes later Ace was sprawled on the floor, covered in bruises and mud Luffy’s foot in his face and Sabo somehow sprawled over his legs. The cut out streamer thing had fallen and some of the papers had come off the walls. One of their bowls was broken but all the sake cups were pristine and red as ever.  
“I hate all of you,” Sabo grumbled, rolling off him and half crawling to the table. Ace joined him, grabbing Luffy by the leg and manuvering around the broken bowl, took him to where his cup was and let his leg drop before sitting in front of his own. 

“I think I got mud in my shirt,” Luffy said, sitting up and peering down. 

“You’ve got mud everywhere,” Sabo said with a laugh. 

So did Sabo. 

So did he. 

Man, if this was pirate life, it was the only kind of life for him. 

“Great holiday, Luffy,” Ace said, raising his cup. 

“Yep!” Sabo grinned. “Best holiday.” He raised his cup. “To Pirate Day!” 

“Pirate Day!” Ace said. 

“Pirate Day!” Luffy said. 

Then the brothers clicked the sake bowls together and drank.


	10. Light A Candle in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As much as Smoker appreciates his men enough to spend some time with him on this sudden holiday, eventually the noise gets to be too much. So he goes to wander the Island's Temple of Remembrance, and finds a face he didn't expect--but who he could never forget.

Everything about the bar, except the beer, was slowly grating on Smoker’s nerves. The bartender and waitresses were overly cheerful, and goddamn _bright_ , dressed in red and green to match with the bright red and green decorations that were plastered everywhere. It wasn’t so much that they were cheerful, but that they were _loud_. Everyone around him was loud, and extremely drunk. Their laughter and chatter rang like brass bells in Smoker’s sensitive ears. It was always like this on shore leave, so he couldn’t fault them for it. And didn’t. Usually if he got irritated with the noise, he went somewhere quiet. But Tashigi had told him, in her solemn faced way, that he should spend some time in the presence of the men. 

‘After all, sir,’ she’d said. ‘This is a holiday.’ 

For _who_? For the people of the island, granted, but as far as he knew, none of his men had come from here. Still— at least they were enjoying themselves so the rest of it was immaterial. He watched as Cadet Jordans dipped his head to be crowned with a pair of fuzzy jangly antlers by a cheerful robust waitress. Both their cheeks were flushed and he wondered if there was going to be some illicit… what was the term Tashigi used? Canoodling. He snorted to himself. Before the night was through. 

He took another sip of the beer, almost empty now, and turned back to his folder, reading the report on Strawhat’s adventures at Enies Lobby. The former Enies Lobby now. And his near miraculous escape from Garp out of Water 7. Technically he wasn’t even supposed to have it. But the Strawhat was resolutely his business so he’d deal with the fallout later. What he couldn’t get was why. The report was compiled from several eyewitness accounts and, as eyewitnesses accounts had a wont to do, were conflicting, conflating and outright damn lying when it suited them. It was impossible to tell which, of course. 

Only a few things were certain. The target, Nico Robin, had been apprehended. Strawhat had declared war on the World Government. That amused Smoker to no end even if he hated himself for it. Rubber though the kid was, he had balls of steel. And then the whole fiasco concluded with Spandam jr, liver nosed son of Spandam sr, had been a flagrant idiot and decided a Buster Call was the best way to end the crises. Smoker would have liked to give him a good punch in the head. Buster Calls in general left a bad taste in his mouth, but to have one of their own key bases destroyed because of it? 

He shook his head, putting a hand over the stein of beer as the barkeep came his way, then lighting cigars since he needed something to grind his teeth against. It was especially annoying because everything seemed blown out of proportion to the actual crises at hand. Though Nico Robin, as little as he understood that situation, was important to the government in some capacity. 

He didn’t know much about her other than rumor and her involvement in Baroque Works… but that group had been _against_ Strawhat, so why was she traveling with him now? What did he know about her that Smoker didn’t? What did she know about _him_ that Smoker didn’t? There were no answers, but that damn grinning brat was growing more of a thorn in his side by the day. 

A tap on his shoulder and he half expected it to be the rubber kid behind him, though he couldn’t say why. It was Tashigi, though, with her own fuzzy jangly antlers, looking faintly reproachful.

“What?” he said. If it was about wearing the fancy red shirt that his men had gotten him for the holiday they previously knew nothing about, he was wearing it and had been all day. No one said he had to close it or not wear his jacket over it. He liked his jacket thank you very damn much. It was just the right weight and kept his cigars close at hand— and also made sure everyone knew just by looking at him where he stood. He geared himself up for an argument about it but all she said was: 

“You’re working.” 

“Ruminating.” There was a difference. Anyway, why couldn’t a man work even on a holiday if he thought it was fun. 

“It might be healthy to take a break from it for a while,” she said. “You have a vein.” She pointed to her temple as if to show where it was and he didn’t need that because he could feel it. So what? That Strawhat kid was enough to give anyone a vein. But he conceded the point because Tashigi’s frown was deepening and as some of the men noticed his mood, the sounds of drunk enjoyment were starting to fade out. 

He closed the file. 

“It would also help…” Tashigi said, holding out fuzzy antlers. With _out_ bells. The men were all wearing them, watching him. Tashigi’s face was saying to take one for the team and we will still respect you in the morning. He didn’t give a damn if they did or not. But, why the hell not. He bent his head so she could settle them on his head. It made everything feel tight for some reason and he was aware of them perched there like some damn red and green target— but eh. No big deal. If anyone tried to shoot him without knowing him, it would give them a nasty surprise, and might be kind of fun, too. For him anyway. 

“What is this holiday about?” he asked Tashigi who had perched beside him, ordering a beer herself. He didn’t really care but it would be interesting, hopefully enough to keep him from returning to the substantially more interesting file. 

“That’s a good question, sir.” She dug a small booklet from her back pocket that said “Welcome to Oski Island!” across the front. Then squinted at it, holding it close, nearly up to her nose, before patting around for her glasses which were perched on top of her head. He knocked them down with a single finger and she blinked. 

“Thank you, sir.” Then flipped through the pages and began to read. “Y___ Holiday found its roots in solstice festivals of old, during which animal sacrifices were made to call back the sun for the next year.” 

Old festivals always seemed to require one kind of sacrifice or another. Still, it seemed like the kind of party Smoker would want to watch, something dark edged and vibrant— but with fantastic purpose. He wasn’t sure he’d let a harmless rooster or pig get sacrificed if no one was going to eat it later. That just seemed damn rude to the animal. Probably best he never went to those, then. 

“Today the Festival has changed into a happy holiday, full of warmth and good cheer!” 

“And getting hammered,” Smoker muttered. As if in comment, the door swung open, bells above it jangling wildly as a passel of drunk young men staggered in. Clearly already in the midst of celebrating. A swirl of cold and snow marked their entrance, which didn’t bother him, but Tashigi hunched her shoulders a little until the door shut again with another jangle.

“That’s every holiday, Smoker-san,” she said. “And the weekend usually.” He grunted to say that he agreed with her, then lit his cigars again, annoyed to find that they’d gone out. She adjusted her glasses and continued. 

“For more holiday cheer, why not visit our candy making shops and hot chocolate dispensary? Or, if you’re in a more solemn frame of mind, feel free to drop by the Temple of Remembrance.” 

He wasn’t really interested in candy or hot chocolate. Though he had to admit it would be interesting watching kids hauling their parents through the snow eager to get to one place or another. Interesting and _loud_. The bells on the door jangled again and a woman laughed shrilly. Smoker twitched a little but tried not to show it. Instead he glanced at his subordinate who was still flipping through the booklet, muttering something about seeing a weapon’s shop somewhere. 

That might also be quiet, but he wasn’t interested in weapons, nor in following Tashigi around while she examined katana in minute detail.   
“Tell me where that temple is?”

||||

Smoker took his time getting there, and almost decided against it. It was snowing otuside, but not badly. The walk wasn’t arduous and the snow wrapped everything in a muffled world of white, broken up into yellow lit pools here and there by the intermittent street lamps. It was easy to just enjoy the scenery. But a man could only take so much of that and he missed his file and the quiet of his cabin. He wanted to do something with his hands—turn his mind to other aspects of the incident. Figure out a method maybe to pry open Strawhat’s skull and poke around in his brain to see what the hell he was up to.

He was about to turn back to retrieve his file at least, to hell with Tashigi’s frowns, when he saw the temple on the crest of the hill. It was a low stone building, looking almost ancient compared to the other buildings he passed by, but well preserved. There were high arched windows on either side with stained glass windows that shone amber with the light from inside. Mildly intrigued, he made his way up to see what he could see. Sitting by the wooden door was a collection box with a sign above it that said “alms”. He stuffed some beri into the slot and then opened the door. 

It looked like he expected a temple to look like more or less. There was a central room with rows of long wooden benches and a raised dais at the far end with a wooden table of some sort perched there. What was unexpected was the two halls that branched out right and left, cut off from the main room by wooden walls, but with finely carved windows revealing flickering candles amassed under portraits. 

Curious, Smoker arbitrarily started left when someone cleared their throat behind him. He turned to see a thin young man, who seemed to be attached to the temple judging by his clothes. He smiled at Smoker nervously, fiddling with some beads that hung from his belt. 

“Ah, hello, good sir,” the man said. “I see you’ve found our Temple of Remembrance. Welcome revered guest.” 

“Thanks,” Smoker said awkwardly, wondering why the man was fidgeting. He was used to nervousness. But this had the underlying sense of fear and tension. He could practically smell it. The young man didn’t seem to be finished speaking, but he couldn’t seem to find his voice either. 

“Of course, you are always welcome, but I was wondering, sir, if perhaps you would care to take the right hall.” 

“Why?” Smoker said. What was being hidden? Was there something or someone dangerous lurking? Someone the man was afraid of? Someone he was trying to hide? 

“Ah…well you see…” the man fiddled with his beads more. “Here at the hall of Remembrance, we make it our goal to keep rememberances of all who pass through here who wish it. Of course we are a very law abiding island! And work hard to keep the peace on our shores.” 

There was a but lurking in there. 

“But…” the young man continued.

Uh huh

“Not all rememberances are from…the most savory of people.” The young man straightened and said very quickly. “But the right hall is for ordinary people, Marines and those keepers of the peace who deserve it far more, sir.” 

Oh, so that’s what he was worried about. 

“I’m not here to cause a fuss or damage property,” Smoker said, lighting a match and moving to his cigars until the young man gave him a pointed look and he remembered, shaking the match out. He kept the cigars between his teeth however. “I’m just here to look.” 

The young man nodded, a sheen of perspiration on his forehead. 

“Well why not look at the right all first, sir.” 

Fair enough. He put his hands in his pockets and went right. The hall was longer than he expected, moving much further than the main room. He looked at the portraits idly, different styles, different times. No faces he knew, and not a few Marines. He stopped at one that was a picture of a young Marine captain, fairly recent it seemed, with the heartfelt scrawled picture of her likeness in a childish hand, framed just underneath. Smoker put a coin in the box where the candles were and lit one for her, placing it in one of the many empty holders. 

He went on. At the end of the hallway was an octagonal room, clearly meant for important people because as he stepped into it there were almost all faces he knew or had at least seen. Marine heroes, martyrs, legends. Even units were listed in small memorial plaques in between the bigger portraits. There were some unexpected groups here. Like the Light Fives, an obscure unit which had been utterly smashed by Roger. Not even kindling could be made of their ships, went the story. 

Smoker lit one for everyone, and few for the Light Fives, because what the hell, it wasn’t as if he was buying more beer. And it gave him a sense of solidarity with those people that mattered. He was a marine, they were marines. Some had salacious rumors tied to them in the ages after they’d died, but who could really tell what was true and what wasn’t after that much time? 

That done and pockets much lighter, he went back the way he had come—but the left hall caught his attention once more… and he wondered… The young man was standing by the entrance to the left hall, straightening as Smoker appeared and looking worried, and even more so when Smoker strode past him to inspect the hall. There must have been incidents because as Smoker went into the hall, the young man followed a polite but close distance behind him. 

There were fewer portraits here, usually from an older time. Mostly it was dominated with wanted posters. Some pristine, others ragged, others with an x or red mark dashed across their faces. He couldn’t even be that annoyed by these posters. The pirates on them were presumably dead and it was just damn petty to hate someone after their death. Whatever else they may have done, people still remembered them, and wanted to, in some capacity or the other. 

The further Smoker got, the more the man tensed and Smoker had a feeling why as he came closer to the octagonal room at the end of this hall. He couldn’t see a picture from where he was standing but he could see a hell of a lot of candles. And some damage to the wall, too, as if someone had taken a shot or several at it. Before Smoker could get much closer the young man scampered in front of him. 

“How about a dose of holiday cheer, sir?” the young man said with another nervous laugh. “We have an excellent hot chocolate dispensary! You’d enjoy it far more than--” 

“I know it’s Roger,” Smoker said. Of course it was Roger. _Of course it was._ There was no one else. The young man seemed to pale, but didn’t move. Smoker took the jitte off his back and laid it against the wall. The young man glanced at it but still didn’t move, seeming to stare hard at his jacket. Granted the man had seen him take matches from his pocket but there were plenty of candles in there… 

But… He sighed and took off his jacket, too, propping it up on the jitte, then spread his hands to show the man, no weapons. Except the candles and his fists, perhaps, but he hoped this concession was enough. He wasn’t going to bully his way past this guy. 

“I will just…stay here and watch your things,” the young man said, stepping out of his way. Smoker nodded gratefully and went in. 

But when he did he wasn’t sure why. 

Because it kind of pissed him off. 

There was Roger in the room, but _only_ Roger. In a single portrait on the far wall. Candles were everywhere, melting wax onto the floor and making the room seem like a sauna with all the heat wavering in the air. There were even boxes at the base of the candle stands full of trinkets. Gold and gems winked in the firelight. 

All this for a pirate. 

And for that pirate. 

But he shouldn’t be surprised and wasn’t. Just aggravated by it all. It was like Roger had been turned into some good luck token or patron saint. He glared up at the portrait and realized with a start that whoever had painted it must have been there that day. Because it _was_ that day, complete with the gleam of blades. But not the men holding them to deliver the blow. Of course. 

Under the x of the blades, Roger _grinned_ at him, his eyes fierce below the ragged cut of his hair. The candle light seemed to catch them almost, giving them a flickering sort of life. ‘Can’t catch me,’ that gaze seemed to say. ‘I’m already dead. Just how I planned.’ It made his blood heat, annoyed but at the same time—at the same goddamn time just the tiniest bit invigorated. It made him want to grin. To proclaim that he’d hunt him down even in death. That he’d go on that chase. Damn pirate. 

“I’m going to put an end to what you started,” he growled softly… but even that didn’t seem like a strong statement. It felt ridiculous and he felt ridiculously small without the weight of Justice on his back, dressed only in the red silk shirt. Red like Roger’s coat had been. Red like that damn Strawhat’s vest and desert robes. Smoker wished it was blue. Smoker wished he could take it off and burn it in an act of defiance. But he was stuck with it. 

Smoker chomped his cigars out of frustration and glowered at the portriat, both hating the expression and admiring it intensely. The longer he stared the more vibrant the colors seemed to get, and the deeper the shadows. A man could stare himself into a hallucination here. Not that Smoker would. He refused to let that bastard be alive for any length of time, even in his head. But that grin, though. 

That grin. 

If he could figure out that. He could figure out so much that currently eluded him. And he would. Even if he couldn’t put an end to the Age of the Pirates. He could at least figure it the hell out. Maybe even take out one of the most aggravated pieces that looked in his mind’s eye like a flimsy rubber toy next to the great shouldered visage that was Roger. But a rubber piece that, it seemed, had saved an entire country. For no other reason than… then…it _seemed_ …some kind of friendship. 

But that was just damned ridiculous. 

Wasn’t it? 

Yes. 

It damn well was.

Right? 

Somehow he found himself wanting to light a candle for the bastard anyway. Grunting to himself, Smoker turned away from those piercing eyes, grabbing his coat and jitte, hearing the young man scramble into the octagonal room as if to inspect the portrait before calling: 

“Happy Holidays, sir!” 

Smoker grunted.

Happy his ass. 

Holidays his ass.

Friendship his ass. 

‘I don’t hate you!’ and big stupid grin his ass.

He wasn’t going to be fooled. He wasn’t going to be intimidated or charmed. He was going to do his damn job and find out what that rubber brat had going for him.   
The memory of Roger’s grin and intense eyes followed him all the way back to the bar.


	11. Sleep in Heavenly Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's only been half a year since the Summit War, but back in Fuchsia Village, Makino can't help but worry about all she does know--and all she is missing. A surprise visit from Shanks provides her the opportunity to ask what is on her mind--but will it help to hear it? Or just make everything harder to bear? 
> 
>  
> 
> MakinoxShanks

Makino finished wiping the bar down, then straightened, wiping the forehead with her sleeve. Finally, all cleaned up for the night! It had been busy today. She’d been nearly run off her feet! But it always was this time of year and it gave her good cheer to see it. She enjoyed watching everyone having a good time, or at least spending time in the company and warmth of others. It was just worth it to give people somewhere to go! Some people needed it more than others. She smiled faintly at what she’d come to know as Dadan’s place.

The woman, who Makino had seen only once or twice a year before…before _that_ time, had started to come down more frequently. Once a week usually. At first it had been to solemnly drink, ignoring everyone around her. But for the past few weeks now she and Makino had shared idle chit-chat, about the weather, about the wine, never about news. Even now, almost half a year later, they were still waiting for the ax to fall. But maybe it wouldn’t. She adjusted the bottles on the shelf of the bar. Maybe there was no ax. 

The sound of footsteps just outside pulled her attention, but she thought nothing of it until the door swung open, reminding her she’d forgotten to lock it. 

“I’m sorry, but we’re closed,” Makino said, straightening a final bottle. She was about to turn but he spoke, freezing her in place. 

“Care to make an exception for a charming pirate?” 

Makino rested her fingertips on the shelves, not daring to turn, old emotions welling up under her breast bone that would be much better tramped down. She thought it would be easier with the fresh wave of sorrow that accompanied it, but it wasn’t. Somehow, emotions or not, she managed to find her voice.

“Pirates aren’t welcome around here very much these days,” she said softly. It was true, though small groups came anyway now and then. Mostly they were usptarts, eager to start their adventure— As for the more roguish ones, well, Fuchsia had its own version of protection. There was no protection from this man, nor the memories he brought with him.   
“Even ones that have been gone so long?” he asked, teasing but it was a question, too. Go or stay. It had been long, too long, but it was always too long and she had known it would always be so. That wasn’t what bothered her. 

“Especially so,” she said. And then when his boot scraped across the floor as if to leave; added hastily, heart jumping. “But I have one more bottle if he’s thirsty. “  
A long pause then. The sound of the sea outside. The cold air fluttering the ends of the kerchief wrapped around her hair so she flattened it down absently. Finally the door closed and he said. 

“Very thirsty,” he said softly. Makino took a bottle off the shelf and steeled herself, adjusting the shock by inches as she shifted only a little to glance at him over her shoulder. He was cast in the shadows of the doorway and of a cloak, damp with sleet, that hid his red hair. He carried no sword or pistol that she could see, but that was typical of him. As he came forward she turned to fully face him, unconsciously holding the bottle a little closer to her chest. It was him, it must be, but it seemed he’d gotten so tall somehow! Or maybe his shoulders were that much broader. Was that what the Grand Line did to a man?

Shanks paused, pulling off his hood and smiling. Makino looked away, her heart jerking on strings of various emotions, all of which threatened to drown her. She turned away, too, and started to go back through to her small living quarters, attached to the bar. It was just enough for a single woman who wanted no prospects…except the most dangerous one. 

“Turn the lights off as you go,” she said, so he wouldn’t take that as a get out. Though she wondered if it should be sometimes. His presence certainly wasn’t doing her any favors. But the thought of the absence of it pulled at her stomach like a vacuum. 

She hurried then, down the short hall and pushing open the door. She was a tidy woman, but she couldn’t help but dust off the corners of tables with her apron and adjust the deep green wreathes and garlands left over from decorating the bar. Rumball, the cat, was on the sofa and she shooed him off with her hands, sweeping off the short black hairs into her palms. She had just got them in the trashcan when the door to her apartments closed. 

“Beautiful as ever,” Shanks said as easily as he said everything. Makino was immediately charmed by it and immediately on her guard. He would have to try a little harder if he wished to impress her. She was used to his ways. 

“How do I know you don’t say that about all the women?” she said, taking brave steps closer to him and holding out her hand for the cloak. 

“No one could be as beautiful as you, Makino-san,” he said and smiled at her warmly, making her knees turn to butter. A lock of hair fell across his eyes as he swept the coat off in a magnificent gesture. She could smell sea and sleet and rum on him. A scent only magnified as she took the cloak from him. There were other scents there, too. Steel, adventure, blood. All parts familiar and new. 

He was watching her, dark eyes caught by the firelight. She realized she was staring and new she must look away because he was leaning down, his one hand swinging gently as if to catch her around the small of the back and pull her in. She was not ready to be pulled in. It didn’t feel right to be pulled in. 

Makino backed away from the gesture, offering him a small smile to show she wasn’t mad at him, before hanging up the cloak on the peg by the door. On the way she caught herself in the mirror. While she didn’t look bad per se, she looked as if she were still working— and she didn’t want that. There must be a distance, of course, but perhaps, not so much of one. 

“I’m sure you remember where things are, Shanks-san,” she said, glancing at him briefly and then away before he could even acknowledge. “I’ll be back in a minute.” 

“I’ll be here,” he said. She wondered how those words alone could warm her. 

She didn’t change much and didn’t debate long, because it wouldn’t do to look too concerned or too eager. So she just went simple. A softer shirt with muted colors. A plain blue skirt that was well tailored and she pulled her kerchief off, but otherwise left her ponytail as it was. Then she was out, letting Rumball into the room so he could spread his black hairs all over the bedspread. Makino bit back a sigh and went to rejoin Shanks. 

He’d lit the red candles on her otherwise plain table, and was letting the wine breathe off to the side, though it wasn’t expensive as all that. He’d also gotten out a plate of cheese and was munching on it thoughtfully, his cheek bulging to one side. In some things he hadn’t changed and it made her smile a little. 

She made a noise so that he hastily swallowed, putting the cheese down and wiping his hand on his trousers, before coming out of the shadows of the hall. 

“You went to a lot of trouble,” she said, smoothing out her skirt as she sat and watching him pour wine for her, the liquid a deep crimson in the light. 

“I wanted to,” he said, pouring his own. 

“What about your men?” 

“They aren’t expecting me for a while,” he said. She wanted to ask him teasingly just what did he think would happen here. But when she looked up he only had a ghost of a smile on his face as he looked into the wine glass. He had changed since she’d seen him last. Quite a lot. There was something harder about his features now. Something deeper about his eyes. She had heard— That was there were rumors— She clenched her hands in her skirt under the table, her mind blocking at the very thought of broaching that topic, but a part of her desperately wanting to know. There was another topic, too. One a bit easier but strange just the same. 

“Why did you come, Shanks-san?” she said. “It’s a long way from the Grand Line.” 

“I came to see you,” he said, with his old rogue’s smile, but she met his gaze levelly. She didn’t buy it. Perhaps in part it was true. Perhaps even a greater part. But there was some other reason. He was a much more complicated man than he appeared to be. Shanks sighed and drank his wine, not a connoisseur in the least, though that didn’t bother her. 

“I wanted to see Fuchsia again, too,” he said, his tone darker as he looked into the red of the wine. “Where it all began.” 

“Do you know…” Makino started, stopped. Swallowed. “That is…can you tell me… anything…not about what happened…” She already knew enough to know that she didn’t want to know anymore. It was almost too much for her to think about. She would skip the details if she could. He was watching her patiently, so she took a deep silent breath, collected herself, and said: 

“I want to know if Luffy is alright.” Of course he wasn’t. How could he be? He and Ace had been so close and even years apart hadn’t changed that! Considering he’d been there, too, at such a terrifyingly big and important battle with wildly conflicting stories about it even now. One man claimed that he had heard it from someone who had heard it from someone that Luffy had assaulted the three Admirals with a mast. That was how far-fetched the stories got. 

Makino didn’t care for them really. She didn’t care for anything except one solid reassurance even in these dark times. A point on which Shanks was being silent. It was as if he had bad news, but she couldn’t believe it. She didn’t want to believe it. 

“Did you see the picture of him in the paper…? With his head down?” Shanks finally said. She nodded. She’d seen it but it was strange. He was mourning, that much was obvious, that much she _knew._ But there had been something about it that seemed intentional. Faked. That was the action she could believe from Luffy, but not the Luffy she’d known. 

“That’s as far as I know of him for certain,” Shanks said. And that was somehow harder news. To not know. She didn’t think Luffy was dead, but he’d certainly seemed alone. She didn’t know the others that accompanied him other than that they were so much older— and did they understand how he could be sometimes? How much loneliness seemed to eat at him and how devoted he had been to his brothers? 

“I see,” she managed to say, blinking rapidly as her eyes burned. Crying just seemed pointless and shallow right now. But it was just— There had been so much hope. It had been so sunny when Luffy had started out, waving to them from the small rowboat. She hadn’t been worried then. She’d only felt a kind of head shaking pride as he’d punched the sea monster in residence enough to knock it out cold. She had never expected the world to close around him as it did. To close around them as it did. Ace and Luffy. One gone, the other…? 

“Makino-san,” Shanks said, his hand resting on the table as if he wanted to touch her, to comfort her. She let her hand rest on top of his, running her thumb along the ridge of his faintly scarred knuckles until he turned his hand so their palms met, his fingertips against the inside of her wrist. 

“Makino-san,” he said again. “Come on, don’t cry…” 

And she was, she realized. A little. Despite her best efforts. She blinked again and wiped at her eyes, tried to smile but the tears wouldn’t stop. 

“I’m sorry, Shanks-san… it’s just…” she sniffed, looked away into the fire on the hearth. “There was so much they wanted to do…” 

“I know…” Shanks said. “But from all I heard, Ace went out saving the person that mattered most to him.” 

She bit the inside of her lip to keep back the fresh wave of tears. She didn’t want to hear it like that. She was glad that he’d accomplished it! She was glad they hadn’t both died. But even the fact that he had— The fact that he’d been executed at all—for such a stupid reason. Such a foolish reason. 

“And Luffy is alive, that much I’m sure of. He’s with Silvers Rayleigh, after all, and it took a Pirate King to die on him.” Shanks was smiling faintly and she didn’t quite understand what he was getting at, but she took him at his word. She wanted to. 

“He looked so young…” she murmured. Luffy not this Silvers person. Shanks squeezed her hand in his.

“I know. That brat always does. But he’ll come out the other side of it stronger.” 

She nodded. It wasn’t much. But it was enough. Even as her mind threw doubts and worries at her. Nothing could ever be that simple, it said. Even if he’s alive now, being placed in a situation like that would surely set the entire world against him, and how could anyone hope to survive? She pushed all these thoughts back. She would hope in what he said was true. Believe it. She would rather be optimistic about Luffy’s future than anything else, even if it was more sensible. 

“Could…could you tell me about Ace?” Makino asked. Dadan had been wondering about things, where they’d sent— where he’d been— what had happened to him after the battle. That he’d been taken by his nakama, that they knew, but beyond it. 

Shanks held her hand and told her about the graves. How it looked. The people that had been there and the flowers that had surrounded it. It had been hard not to cry again through all of that, and she hadn’t been very successful, but Shanks had said nothing. 

After a while they moved to the couch and he continued telling her bits of what he knew about Ace’s life on the seas, and some of Luffy’s that he’d gleaned from here and there. Parts of it had made her laugh softly, even as her breath hitched, at the sheer strangeness and wonder of it. In his stories she could see them both alive and happy, exploring the world and turning it on its head in their own ridiculous fashions. 

All too soon even those stories fell to an end and they were left in quiet. But it was a good quiet. She felt fuller somehow. Better. More settled with the world. Though there was too much to be worried about, the sense of loss had eased just a little. 

She laid her head on Shank’s shoulder, breathing in his scent as his hand, so much larger than she remembered, rested on her upper arm, thumb rubbing back and forth. She had missed him, too. She was glad to see him safe. Glad that he had come alone. 

Makino shifted her arm behind Shanks’ back and moved in a little closer, shifting one leg over the other so that she could lean against him. His thumb stilled a moment, and she smiled to herself. 

“Thank you,” she murmured. “For coming back and telling me. It must have been a long journey.” 

He cleared his throat. 

“Worth every mile,” he said. She moved just a little closer, a warm heat settling in her stomach that had little to do with the wine.

“And no one is expecting you for a while?” she murmured, playing with the folds of his shirt. 

“A few days at least.” 

Makino smiled softly. 

“Good.”


	12. Santa Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nami doesn't really mind doing a favor for Lola, though being an Elf to Robin's Mrs. Claus and herding children leaves much to be desired. Still, she's sure the true meaning of Christmas is here somewhere.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Nami asked, pulling on the jagged hem of the green elf dress, the bells tied to the ends jangling faintly. It was a little short on her. Normally she didn’t mind but on this occasion maybe a little longer was better. 

“I should be the one asking that,” Lola said, clutching her clipboard and looking anxious. “You look wonderful, Namizo. I only wish I could pay you more.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Nami said, looking at her reflection in the changing room mirror and regretting the decision to wear strappy heels today. Oh well. She’d just have to work with it. Lola was still frowning behind her and Nami shot a smile at the shorter woman. 

“It’s really fine. I agreed to help out, right?” 

It wasn’t really her thing at all. But she was already on vacation so it wasn’t as if she was missing work. And she couldn’t just leave Lola in the lurch, especially if the woman’s own business was on the line. 

“I appreciate it,” Lola said with a broad smile. “Our usual guy is pretty reliable but he works in securities or something and had an emergency. But if he can make it back he will, so if he does you can go.” Lola sighed gustily, smiling and putting a hand to her cheek. “You should see him in his Santa outfit, Namizo.” 

Nami chuckled as she pulled the jangly elf hat over her ears. The bell was going to annoy the hell out of her, but she’d bear with it. Then she turned toward Lola, her hands on her hips. 

“Did you hire him because he was reliable? Or because he was hot?” 

“A handsome Santa couldn’t hurt!” Lola said, grinning broadly even as the red circles on her cheeks grew redder. “And he has muscles like a steel bar. Ahhh” She fanned herself. “I could marry that man.” 

Nami just shook her head, biting back the annoyance as the bell jangled against her neck. She felt a little jaded. Granted her taste didn’t always run to the tall, handsome and muscule bound, since lord knew she knew enough of those types of guys. It was probably because she knew them too damn well to really think of that way toward them.   
“Well that looks good,” Nami said to her reflection. Then called over her shoulder. “Almost ready?”

“Almost,” Robin called back from the other changing room. After a second or so she emerged from behind the curtain. She was dressed as Mrs. Claus, Nami supposed. A furred red velvet top belted over a long red skirt ornately detailed in swirled beads. Her long dark hair was tucked under a frilled hat that had a sprig of holly on it and small round glasses were perched on the end of her elegant nose. She was gorgeous, even with the lines painted on her face with a makeup brush to make her look appropriately old. Better than any muscle bound Santa Clause if you asked Nami. 

“You look wonderful!” Nami said. “Turn around and let me see.” 

“Your friend does fantastic work,” Lola said and Nami couldn’t help but agree. They were lucky Keimi had anything on short notice, but somehow she managed to spruce up a Mrs. Claus outfit in a little under five hours. She felt kind of pathetic in her polyester store brought “jingle elf” dress. But at least she had the body to rock it. 

Not that it would matter with kids, but Nami tried not to think about that. 

“You look wonderful, too,” Robin said and Nami couldn’t help but smile. 

“Are we ready?” Lola asked. Nami nodded and soon they were striding through the store and out into the mall proper where the ChristmasLand display loomed. It was a mountain of cottonball snow, with a diorama of houses and a train that tooted along a track. A huge Christmas tree towered beside it, glimmering with lights and a star at the top. It really was fantastic. She’d seen before for about three hours just last week, and then it was only because they couldn’t pry Luffy, Usopp, or Chopper away from it. Not to mention Franky who was loudly wondering if he could make the trains rocket powered. That was why none of them were here today…and why they weren’t telling anyone what they were doing. Luffy would just hyperventilate on Christmas awesome and chaos would invariably follow as chaos always did. 

“Now it’s really simple,” Lola said, opening a door on the back of the mountain and ushering them inside. It was bland in here compared to the dazzle of the outside. It was light by a few harsh bulbs and had an uncertain staircase that lead up. “Namizo, you usher the kids through the rope, but make sure to hook it back, take them to Robin, and when the kids are done, escort them to the slide. But they can’t go headfirst due to safety regulations.” 

“It would be horrible if they snapped their necks in the ballpit,” Robin agreed solemnly and Nami paused on the steps as a shudder went through her. Why did she always say things like that? 

“Plus we’d get sued,” Lola said with a laugh, seeming completely unphased. They reached the top of the rickety scaffold and as Lola put her hand on the door, Robin asked:   
“What should I say if they ask why I’m here instead?”

“Oh, anything,” Lola said. “If they’re really upset, tell them that Santa will return tomorrow.” 

Nami almost let the moment slip by, but then remembered who Lola was talking to. Anything, she said. That would have ended in disaster. 

“Anything as in something that won’t traumatize the kids to hell and back,” Nami said. Robin blinked at her as if she didn’t quite understand what that entailed. Okay, granted, Robin’s idea of truama was probably different from a regular kid in the mall—so Nami didn’t really hold it against her. 

“Just tell them Santa has a bad back today,” Nami said, waving a hand. Robin nodded, tucking a strand of long black hair back under the granny cap. 

“Okay,” Lola said with a broad smile, opening the door. “Knock ‘em dead.” 

Robin emerged first out onto the platform and Nami followed. It was fairly high up. The slide was icy blue with snowflakes painted on it and lead to a ball pit with blue and white balls. This set up had to be expensive. On top of that, a sizable crowd had gathered below, kids of all ages chattering and squealing and screaming, and an equal cluster of harried parents. There were kids already lined up the steps. No wonder Lola was desperate. 

Robin sat in the Santa throne with her usual grace, her face serene as she folded her gloved hands on her lap. At least she looked happy about this. Nami would, too, she decided. Might as well give these kids a show and she didn’t want to give Lola a bad reputation. So she plastered a kind smile on her face and jangled her way over to the velvet rope. The first kid was a little girl with her hair in pigtails who seemed disappointed already that there wasn’t some big fat man (muscles of steel or otherwise) sitting on the throne.

“Looks like you’re first!” Nami said, making her voice cheerful as she unhooked the rope. The girl brushed past her like she didn’t even exist and Nami smiled, hooking the rope back up. 

“Mommy that lady looks like her face is gonna break,” said a kid further back. The woman shushed her. Nami turned away, adjusting the cap and went to stand beside the throne.   
Christmas cheer. She just had to remind herself of that. Nami tried to relax. 

“Where’s Santa?” the girl asked and the tension came right back again as she side-eyed Robin. 

“He slipped on some ice and br—sprained his back,” Robin said. “The elves are walking on it right now.” 

The girl looked at Nami thoughtfully and Nami smiled, tilting her head to the side so that her bell jangled. 

“I hope they don’t break it for good,” the girl said. Nami felt a vein throb on her temple. What was that supposed to mean? 

“They’ll take their shoes off first,” Robin said with a warm chuckle. “What can he get you?” 

“I want an ipad, but not any cheap knockoffs or last season stuff. I want the best.” 

Geeze this kid… Robin’s serene smile didn’t so much twitch and she murmured something about seeing what she could do before handing the girl a candy cane and patting her head. Nami’s smile was a little less cheery (forced or otherwise) as she guided the kid to the slide. 

“You look like a bad Halloween costume,” the girl said with a flat expression and took herself down. 

“Remind me that homicide is a bad thing,” Nami muttered as she went past the throne, forgetting cheerful for now and just going for not openly aggressive. 

“Well it certainly wouldn’t help your reputation,” Robin said, amused. Nami snorted to herself. The only reason she had any reputation was because she let one idiot photograph her—well really before that she’d decided to follow another idiot to the ends of the earth and beyond, come what may, and she would never regret that. 

The next kid in line, a boy with a Ralph Lauren hoodie was at least less of a brat but he was obviously nearing the age where he was becoming fixated on thing only. Not that Nami didn’t understand but a three year subscription to World of Warcraft was a little much. Go outside, she wanted to tell him. Read a book. But she said nothing and down the slide he went. 

It soon became apparent that this was a ritzy mall and had attracted ritzy kids. Very few of them except for the very little ones, asked for anything under a hundred bucks. No matter what the request, though, Robin gave the same calm variation of “we’ll see”, smiling as she said it. She seemed to be having a good time and Nami couldn’t help but wonder at it. From what she knew of Robin’s past, the woman probably had never even dared to approach a Santa, let alone sit on his lap and expect anything from Christmas.   
For her own part, Nami couldn’t help but feel a little resentful. All the Christmasses she could remember growing up they were always wanting for something. Sometimes it was even food or money for the heating bill. Not that it was these kids fault they were well off, Nami reminded herself as she lead a nervous bespectacled boy to Robin’s lap. Just she sometimes wondered if the world would be better off if more people in general had a better sense of perspective. 

Also, man this kid was taking a long time to say anything. The kids had seemed at most a little awed by Robin’s presence, but warmed up quickly. This kid seemed to have frozen up completely. Nami tried not to fold her arms or tap her foot or urge the kid to move on with a glare to the back of his head. The exit door on the mountain open and Nami looked over curiously as Lola appeared in the crack, mouthing break time was in ten minutes. 

Right. 

“Okay, kiddo, Mrs. Claus has a few other people to see, so why not try again when you’ve made up your mind,” Nami said, ushering the kid off Robin’s lap and onto the slide. He didn’t seem to want to go so she gave him a little push with her hand. He started going then gripped the slide hard with his hands. 

“Wait!” he said, twisting around frantically. “I know what it is! I want a Red Ryder Carbine Action 200-shot Range Model Air Rifle!” 

Robin laughed at that one. Then folded her hands, eyes still dancing as she tilted her head slightly and said: 

“We’ll see.” 

“We’ll see?” Nami repeated. “Are you crazy?” She turned toward the boy. “You don't want that. You’ll shoot an eye out, kid.” And gave him a solid push to send him careening on his way.

>o>o>o>o 

Nami pulled the coat a little closer around her as she sat in the food court, sipping on a banana passion smoothie that Lola had generously paid for. Nami had turned her down of course. The woman was trying to save money and the food court prices were ridiculous. For herself she could earn it back quickly enough. Robin sat beside her, drinking coffee and reading A Christmas Carol for the upteenth time. She wore a coat, too and Nami could see the faint outline of the fingers keeping it closed from within. Probably from a hand grown from her stomach. Nami wondered when she’d gotten used to that fact about her.

She sighed and folded one leg over the other, listening to the blaze of Christmas Carols on repeat and the burble of a fountain nearby. Her phone buzzed in her cleavage as it had been doing on and off for about five minutes now but she ignored it. It would require too much digging around and damn the costume for not having pockets. It was probably Luffy texting about something cool or the other. Thank God for unlimited texting. 

Instead she leaned back and people watched for a bit. There were always some weirdos in the mall, even this time of year. Not too far from them was a man that had a shirt of pineapples wearing santa hats and his friend that had a hairstyle that went out with the 60s and Grease revivals. She watched them for a bit then realized they seemed to be coming toward the table, then realizing they were. Oh great. 

The pineapple shirt man stopped at their table, scratching his cheek and looking as nervous as the bespectacled kid. Nami stared at him, mentally daring him to ask something stupid. 

“Is there an age limit for lap sitting, yoi?” the man asked, turning bright red. Seriously? Robin simply stared at him while his friend face palmed loudly in the background.   
“Sorry for this idiot, ladies,” his friend said, grabbing pineapple shirt by the arm and bodily hauling him off. 

“What about for birds?” he called, which made no sense whatsoever. Nami huffed and slurped at her drink. 

“I can’t decide what’s worse, men around this time of year or kids,” she muttered to herself. 

“You think the kids were bad?” Robin asked lightly. Nami sighed. 

“No, not really. But I’d never have asked for an ipad.” And expected to get one. 

“Mm…” Robin closed the book. “But somehow…I don’t mind.” She folded her fingers together and looked off into the distance before glancing at Nami again. “In peaceful times, kids can afford to be a little selfish, don’t you think?” 

She supposed she couldn’t deny that. The world wasn’t like it used to be, that was for sure. And…now that she thought of it, she’d been pretty selfish, too as a kid. Wanting Christmas even though they could never really afford it. That …last year… she’d been so frustrated by not having what she wanted she’d went ahead and stolen the camera. Bellemere had popped her one good for that. And then popped the security guard too when he came to yell at them and they’d spent most of Christmas Eve at the Sheriff’s office. But… Nami smiled to herself. She’d found the camera under the tree the next day, all wrapped up and everything. 

Maybe it was okay to be a little selfish during this time of year. 

For the twelve and under set, she amended, thinking of Pervy Pineapple man. 

“And what do you want for Christmas?” Robin asked in a low teasing voice. Nami smiled back at her, though she knew the answer right away. 

“A big bottle of Southern Comfort.” 

Robin laughed. The phone buzzed again and Nami sighed. She was going to have to get it out to at least silence it completely before they went back on shift again. She bent a bit so it slid forward and pulled it out, expecting Luffy, but surprisingly it was Usopp. 

/Hey, we’re by the mall. Sanji wanted to know if you wanted to be picked up from your secret thing yet. I think he thinks its lingerie trying on or something. B>|/

/Not yet./ And then it occurred to her. /You didn’t tell anyone it was a secret, did you?/ Specifically a certain straw hat wearing someone. 

/No. Do I look crazy?/ 

She breathed a sigh of relief. Until her phone buzzed again. 

/SECRET?!!!!! WAT SECERT?!!!/ 

Damnit, Luffy. 

/Damnit, Luffy/ Usopp texted. /Sorry I didn’t know he was over my shoulder. I’ll do damage control/ 

/TELL ME TH SERCEIT!!!!/ 

Nami turned off the vibrate, letting Usopp handle that headache but resigning herself to the fact that he’d probably come charging in at some point. No one could keep Luffy away from secrets for long. Robin tapped her on the shoulder and Nami looked up to see Lola coming their way, a broad smile on her face.

“Good news,” she said. “Our guy made it. He’s already dressed up and everything so you can go when you want.” 

“Sounds great,” Nami said, accepting the small roll of money that Lola was handing out to her. Though thinking of money… she actually wanted to have a chat with that guy. It wasn’t the first time Lola had been shafted by someone having an emergency and she just wanted to make sure the guy knew where he stood. She’d even lean on her reputation if she had to. 

/Change of plans,/ she texted Usopp. /Meet us by the main entrance asap/ 

/Got it/ 

She told Robin they were getting a lift and then spent a little looking for this steel muscle guy. He wasn’t in the mall’s general employee area or loitering outside the mountain. It then occurred to her she wouldn’t know what he looked like unless he was dressed up, so she went inside the mountain. Then, just in case, peeked through the door. He was there on the throne, preparing his bag of candy canes for the kids that were already lining up. 

Good. 

Nami shed her coat, putting it over the railing, then pulled the jingle jangle cap back over her head before striding out and placing herself on Santa’s leg. He really was a big guy, muscled, too she could tell, despite the padding. She could see the appeal of him, which made him all the more dangerous. 

‘Before you get working, Mr. Claus,” she said. “We’re going to get one thing straight.” 

“Huh?” he said, peering at her…and now that she thought about it there was something familiar about his voice. His face, too. She wasn’t sure what it was but it nagged her.   
“You’d better not take advantage of Lola’s sex drive,” she said in a low voice so the kids wouldn’t overhear. He blinked at her, clearly startled, then closed his eyes, a muscle in his cheek twitching which made him seem all the more familiar. Why? 

“I’m not going to take advantage of anyone’s sex drive,” he said. Then opened his eyes and stared hard at her as if he recognized her, too. Wait—was it—Feeling a sense of trepidation, Nami leaned forward and tugged down the beard a little. 

Oh

Shit. 

“You!” Smoker said. 

Nami smiled brightly, reigning in the burgeoning panic to pull his hat down over his eyes and get off of his lap to undo the rope that barred the kids. 

“Santa says whoever gets the most candy canes in the next ten minutes will get a new playstation!” she said, mentally apologizing to Lola in her head. Then she hurried quickly as the tide of shrieking excited kids poured onto the mountaintop, surrounding the officer and launching greedy hands at the bag. 

That wouldn’t hold him long, though. Nami grabbed her coat, made her careful way down the scaffolding to not break her own neck, then raced through the mall in heels, dialing Sanji as she went. 

“Floor it,” she said, as soon as the connection click. 

“Yes, ma’am!” he crooned and she heard the screech of tires. Nami shoved the phone back down her cleavage and then picked up her speed, nearly falling over herself as she saw Robin come out of a nearby store, slowly and looking at the receipt. 

“Come on,” she called, hurrying over and grabbing the woman by the arm as she charged for the exit. 

“What—?” 

“Smoker,” Nami said. Robin nodded and then it was Nami hurrying to keep pace with Robin’s longer strides. There were sirens when they got outside in the chill air. She couldn’t say for sure whether those were for them or not but she wasn’t about take that chance. 

Fortunately not two second’s later, Sanji’s black sedan came screeching into the parking lot, practically on two wheels as he roared up to the curb. Robin had the doors open before he’d even fully stopped. 

“What’s going on?” Usopp said as Nami fairly dove into the back seat, ending up half on Luffy. 

“Is it a chase?” Luffy said, way too excited about it as usual. 

“Let’s go,” Nami said and Sanji peeled off. Luffy’s strong hand around her waist kept her from sliding across the car and crashing into Usopp, a fact which Sanji grumbled about loudly but Nami ignored him and slid in between the two boys, trying to catch her breath. 

“What’s going on?” Usopp asked. “Are we in trouble?” 

“We should stay and fight!” Luffy said, punching his palm. 

“No!” she and Usopp said at the same time. That was why she loved Usopp really. He didn’t need to know. If it looked dangerous it was dangerous and the less involved they were the better. She really did feel sorry for Lola, though. But the woman would understand and Nami would be sure to pay the damages. Usopp was still looking at her inquiringly. Looking so hard it seemed his eyes were going to bulge out. Oh right, she still hadn’t told him what was going on. 

“We were doing a Santa thing and Smoker showed up,” Nami said 

“Shitty cop,” Sanji grumbled. 

“Oh yeah, I can’t fight Smokey,” Luffy said. “But I want to see the Santa thing.” 

“I’ll show you when we get back, Luffy,” Robin said. “Is that okay?”

He grinned widely, giving her a double thumbs up. 

“Yep!” 

“By the way,” Robin said, handing back a plastic bag. “Merry Christmas, Nami-chan.” 

“Huh?” She opened the bag and smiled as she saw a bottle of Southern Comfort. A big one. Nami smiled. 

“Thanks,” she said. She needed this. She sat back, toeing off her shoes and twisting off the cap of the bottle. She took a gulp and twisted her head a little as the seventy proof hit her right in the gut. It was good, though. Very good. Usopp muttered something about her starting early today but she ignored him and raised the bottle.   
“To Mrs. Claus,” she said, before taking another drink. She’d prefer that woman to Santa any day of the week.


	13. Let Your Heart Be Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Law doesn't feel anything like sadness anymore. Or at least that's what he tells himself. But even in times as rough as these, there are things to be happy about. 
> 
> Spoilers for Law's past.

He isn’t sad. He tells himself this as he sits on the stump just outside of town. He isn’t sad because he isn’t going to feel those kinds of things anymore. He isn’t sad because he’s been sad enough and it doesn’t _do_ anything. Crying makes your eyes dry out and your nose run. Crying makes you feel small in a world where you have to be big and he _is_ big, just not in height yet. So he isn’t sad. 

But he is pretty lonely. 

Law nudges his feet in the snow, making ridges and patterns and hides his white dappled hands in his pockets. The white is spreading now. Smoothing over his skin and soon he will be like all the rest. That is to say dead. He doesn’t mind the dying part. He tells himself this, too. Dying seems inevitable now. No matter how many places they go to or how many hospitals Corazon attacks, death is just around the corner. It’s the hoping that hurts the most, but he’s stopped doing that, too. So he’s not hoping, not sad, and definitely going to die. 

He takes a deep breath and lets it out, watching it frost in the night air. Then glances again at the town. It’s in the midst of some sort of festival. He doesn’t know what. Flevance has something like that. Had something like it. He clenches his fists inside his pockets and puts that away. It’s an old memory. A wound that doesn’t matter anymore. It’s a memory like a phantom limb. Father had told him about it once. A man loses his arm, say, but he can still feel it sometimes as if it’s there. The ache, to him, is real. The sensation of fingers and the bend of the elbow. But it is all in his head. There is nothing there but memory. 

Flevance… is not like a lost arm. It’s bigger than that. But it’s useless, too. He can’t change it. He can’t fix it. He can’t even get revenge. So he takes another deep breath and _forces_ it down where it won’t hurt anymore. Forces himself to look at the town which is nothing like Flevance. It is small and red and green trimmed. There are lights. There are people walking back and forth in the snow drifts or skating on the silver pond half hidden by the town hall which is strung up in green. There are lots of little shops lit up with interesting things inside. Law is too far to see very well— 

Because he doesn’t want to see. He is not some kid that presses his nose up against the window to see the candy or toys. He hasn’t been a kid like that for a very long time and he’s less like that now. He’s an adult, just no one can see it. He kicks his feet idly, watching. The more he does, the easier it becomes. 

Then there is the sharp small sound like a bird and a high voice cries: 

“Brother, wait!” 

He looks but he doesn’t want to. There’s a little boy in the snow, having fallen down and an older boy a few steps away from him and walking. 

“Don’t leave me!” the little boy cries. 

“I won’t, stupid,” says the older boy. “I’m walking slow. Hurry and catch up.”

_Turn around!_ Law wants to say, watching the little boy flounder. _Don’t just say that and leave! Turn, damnit!_

The older boy doesn’t. Keeps going. The little one is left floundering and Law is on his feet before he knows it, wanting to help the dumb little kid. Wanting to belt the older one across the jaw. But finally the little boy gets to his feet, dressed up in so many layers he looks like a penguin and hobbles after his older brother. 

But then he stops and looks at Law. 

Law feels a jolt at having been seen and automatically wants to duck into the shadows but there are no shadows to duck into. 

“Who is that?” the little boy asks. The older boy looks too. A sudden tension goes through him and Law’s gut twists. It’s just because he’s a stranger, isn’t it? 

“That must be the diseased kid,” the older brother says, marching back and grabbing the younger’s arm. “Come on let’s go.” 

They hurry off into town. 

Diseased kid. Law looks at his hands in the lamplight. Dappled white. White as the snow. He feels like it could freeze him from the inside out and he wants it to. He wants to be frozen so he doesn’t care anymore. 

He turns and trudges through the snow, toward the forest. They have a little campsite there that’s hidden in a little cave draped with ivy. He doesn’t go in the cave but perversely crouches just outside it, arms wrapped around his knees and looking at the dark woods. 

It’s better here. 

Maybe he belongs here. 

It’s quarantine, right? 

Keep the sick ones away. 

Burn them until no trace is left. 

Leave the bodies and bones to char in the fire until everyone is choking on the ash. 

But he is not sad. 

Because phantom memories don’t hurt. 

Soon it’s easier. Soon it’s just the cold. 

He shivers and sniffs back cold snot and feels his cheeks freeze slowly. There is a crunching and Law stays where he is, though his eyes dart to the trees. He doesn’t want to reveal their camp if it’s someone coming wanting to get rid of them. 

Corazon looms out of the darkness, grinning and looking creepier than usual standing there flanked by the dark trees in his dark coat. There’s something behind his back and Law wants to know what it is but really doesn’t at the same time. 

“You left!” Corzaon says with a wide grin. “Did you get bored?” 

Law just shrugs. There’s no reason to tell him what happened. They aren’t staying here long anyway and will probably leave before any real trouble happens. Anyway there’s no hospitals to burn down here. 

“Well guess what? It’s Festivus!” Corazon says and holds out… 

Holds out a something…

Law can’t really tell what it is. It looks like it must have been a box of some kind but it’s just hard packed cinders now. 

Law stares at it. 

Corazon grins at Law. 

An owl hoots somewhere as if commenting on the stupidity of the moment. 

“It’s burnt,” Law says finally. 

“What?!” Corazon jolts so hard he nearly falls over. “How the hell did _that_ happen?” 

“How do you not know?!” Law says, though he shouldn’t be surprised by now. 

“Damnit,” Corazon says. Then straightens. “I’ll get you another gift.” 

“I don’t want another gift,” Law says. “I don’t want a gift to begin with.”

“I want to give you one, brat!” Corazon says, crossing the space and pulling at Law’s cheek. 

“Stop giving me stuff I don’t want!” Law snaps, resisting the temptation to pull Corazon’s cheek back. He’s above that sort of thing. Corazon glowers at him, then huffs and flops in the snow. Law guesses he meant to crouch like Law is doing, but he overcompensates and ends up on his back, legs flailing uselessly. Law sniffs as Corazon peddles uselessly in the air for a second before righting himself and angling his lanky body into a crouch. 

“I hate this holiday,” Corazon mutters. Law huffs a sigh and rests his chin on his knees. 

“Then why do you want to give me a gift?”

“Because a kid has gotta smile,” Corazon says. It’s the dumbest thing Law’s heard. A kid has gotta smile. For one thing, he’s not a kid. For another there’s too much to smile. It’s too hard to smile. What was there to smile about? 

“Why?” Law asks. He doesn’t expect a good answer, but he’ll challenge Corazon on the question. He won’t let people just say things and expect him to take it at face value. 

“Because one day you’ll be happy, so you have to remember how.” 

Happy. 

What is there to be happy about? 

What is there to ever be happy about? 

Soon he’ll just be a footnote in medical history. …If he’s even really remembered. The thought makes him sadder and he isn’t sure why. If you’re dead, what do you care if you’re forgotten or not? 

“Why should I be happy,” Law mumurs, though what he means is why should he ever be happy? 

“Because you’re alive.”

Law just snorts. Yeah he’s alive for now. But even if he lives… What’s he going to do? Get revenge? He’s not sure if that will make him happy, but it would make him satisfied. 

“Damnit there’s a reason,” Corazon says, curling his hand into a fist. “Don’t give up yet just because you can’t think of one.” 

Who is he even talking to? Law says nothing and watches Corazon fidget and grumble and eventually get out a cigarette and a lighter. Law is sitting close enough to him to not want second degree burns on top of everything else, takes the lighter, and lights the cigarette for him, watching the firelight flicker against his painted face. 

“You shouldn’t smoke so much you know,” Law murmurs. “It’s unhealthy.” 

Corazon stares at him a long moment, a glassy wet look coming to his eyes. Then he smiles, broadly, a tear streaking down his face. It startles Law for a second so that he sits back, the lighter dying. 

“That’s what it is.” Corazon says. “You’ve got to remember to smile for someone that cares about you.” 

“Someone that cares about me…?” Law echoes. He hadn’t really thought about it that way. But he hadn’t thought about people that cared about him in a long time. Maybe when you grow up with it it’s hard to see sometimes, but his family cared about him and he them. He didn’t always smile, sometimes he didn’t want to because he was in a bad mood and they were sometimes annoying. But he would smile…when he was happy. 

Law looks away and swallows. That kind of happiness is gone now. He doesn’t think he’ll live that long to see it again but… but he’s not…really uncared for right now either. Right? Well…he isn’t entirely sure but… maybe just for now he can think so.

He doesn’t look at Corazon. Doesn’t think he can but… Reaches over and holds a feather on the end of his coat. His hand looks really white against the black but somehow …

he doesn’t feel cold at all.


	14. Last Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was like this every year, a Thatch thrown party leading to trouble. But not this year. Izo will be there to make sure of it. He is not so seduced by Thatch's wily ways, and will make sure Thatch knows it, too.

Ahhh. It was so beautiful this time of year. There wasn’t any snow to speak of, but that didn’t stop the lights from shining as brightly as they knew how. And it was pretty bright. The Whitebeard Gang Christmas Extravaganza Festival of Lights and Too Many Damn Words was not a sight to be missed. For two weeks the entire gang got together, all 1600 of them plus allies and protectorates, and decorated the bejangles out of the estate. There were numerous Christmas trees, lights flickering in time with music, dioramas, mazes, a Santa Claus. This year Blamenco was sitting on the throne, traumatizing and enchanting children by pulling candy canes from his cheek pouches. There was even a smattering of Hanukkah Bushes, menorahs, and kwanzaa candles. A coffee shop had been set up on the corner. People from far and wide came to view the lights and not a few cops and NGTF agents. It was enough to make the electric company weep tears of joy and Marco weep tears of pain at the end of it all as he balanced the yearly budget. The poor dear. 

Currently, though, their first in command was not weeping, but standing by the window in a chunky Christmas sweater covered with reindeer and a variety of birds. Because of course it was. He had those square glasses he was so fond of, but Izo wasn’t quite convinced he needed, and watching the Whitey Bay/9th Division paintball fight that was going to turn into an all out war as Squard’s gang was formulating a surprise ambush from behind the corner of the maze. 

“What do you think, Master Strategist,” Izo said, hip bumping Marco lightly and stealing his tea to take a sip. “Who stands a chance of winning?” 

“Depends on what you mean by winning, yoi,” Marco said, relinquishing his tea and slipping an arm around Izo’s shoulders. “Unless Squard is forced into a retreat it will be whoever is the last one standing.” 

“I put my money on Whitey Bay,” Izo said, watching the woman standing on their fort, screaming directions with her sword pointed at the enemy and the wind catching her hair. It wasn’t really because of competence but showmanship which Blenheim and his division tended to appreciate. Izo, too. Though if it had been Thatch, she’d have been hit right in the mouth and then they’d be scraping his stupid pompadour off the walls. 

“Want to make that official?” Marco asked, pulling the little black book from his sweater. He had to keep it on his person or some rascally bastards would cheat and change everything in their faovr if they could get their hands on it. Izo peered at the list of names. 

“What are the odds?” he asked. 

“Eight to One on Blenheim winning.” 

Izo considered.

“Put me down for fifty.” 

“Brave.” 

“I like to play on the wild side,” Izo said, swiping the lipstick of the cup with his thumb and handing it back. He watch the surge of tide as Squard roared out into the battlefield, but Whitey Bay was prepared for her him, sweeping her sword to the side. With another roar, Zodia’s gang came charging in from the right, meeting Squard’s group head on and throwing the 9th into confusion. Marco whistled low. 

“Well played, yoi.”

“And how,” Izo said, pleased. He watched for a while longer until it was a mess of paint and screaming and then decided enough was enough for now. He needed something calmer to look at and “Holiday Inn” should be playing in about half an hour. He was about to ask whether Marco would care to watch it with him when the voices came bellowing down the hallway. 

“RUM RUN!” 

Izo closed his eyes. 

Oh no. 

Not this year. 

He shut the door quickly and looked around for a chair to put under it. 

“Quick!” he told Marco. “Help with the barricade!” 

Marco looked at him, clearly distracted by the war and opened his mouth— but too late, the door slammed open and there was a brief struggle as Ace and Haruta tried to get in at the same time. 

“Get out of my way!” Ace said. 

“You get out of my way!” Haruta said. 

“Both’a you dumbasses move!” said Namur behind them. They both fell in the room on their faces, taking part of the door lining with them and ended up face first on the carpet. There was a satisfied ‘sheheheh’ outside and Namur wedged himself into the room, the door just accommodating his Fishman size. 

“Alright you guys know what you gotta do,” Namur said. Ace and Haruta saluted, then as one charged for Marco.   
“Yoi?” he said, and if he had his feathers out, they would ruffle. But it was too late. Haruta slid a kick into the back of his legs, knocking him off his feet and Ace popped a bag over his head, only setting him on fire a little. 

“Now hold it!” Izo said, grabbing Marco by the leg. “Do you have to do this every year? You bring him home drunk as a lord--.” 

“Lords don’t get as drunk as we’re gonna get ‘im,” Namur said with a self satisfied smile. 

“Yeah we’re gonna have to roll him home in a barrel,” Haruta added. 

“Yoi?” Marco said again, toes twitching his sandals. 

“And he’s absolutely miserable for the next three days.” 

“Yeah but for three hours he’s going to feel great,” Ace said with a smile that was too charming for anyone’s good and Izo’s constitution. The bouncing black eyebrows didn’t help either. 

“Thatch told you to say that, didn’t he,” Izo said, but Ace just laughed and hefted Marco up on his shoulder. Izo stubbornly clung to his ankle. He was not going to let that poor birdie go without a fight. There was a beeping and Namur put his hand to his ear. 

“Yeh?” then “Nah, there’s a problem.” 

“It’s Izo!” Haruta piped up. 

“Tell Thatch I’ll shave him bald if he goes through with this!” Izo said, a mostly idle threat. Even he wouldn’t do something that cruel to the man. But Thatch didn’t need to know that. 

“Heard that?” Namur says. Then: “Yeh.” And he dropped his hand from his ear. “Slughead says to take the cross dresser, too.”   
“What?” Izo backed to the corner of the room. “You leave me out of this!” 

“I got the chicken,” Namur said, holding a limp useless Marco against his chest. “You got this Firebrat?” 

“Got it!” Ace said giving him a thumbs up. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Izo said, drawing himself up to his full height and resisting the urge to put a chair between them. Haruta was right beside Ace which was another frog to add to the pot as it were. But even both of them weren’t enough to take him if he didn’t want it. 

“Aw, come on, Izo, don’t be that way,” Ace said spreading his hands. “You should come! It’ll be awesome!” 

“Give me one good reason why I should,” Izo said, folding his arms. But there was nothing Ace could say because there was no good reason for Izo to be a part of this fiasco. A fond smile spread across Ace’s face that reached his eyes. 

“Because it wouldn’t be the same without you.”

\\_/\\_/\\_/

Izo sat as elegantly as he could on the far side of the bench seat of Thatch’s some muscle car some year, the details of which very thankfully escaped him. Though had to slide to the middle as Vista stuffed himself in.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Vista said, twisting the end of his long mustache and Izo supposed not, though he was closer to Thatch than he wanted to be at the moment. The bastard had the audacity to grin at him, too. 

“Glad you decided to come,” Thatch said. Izo gave him a look and then shifted the rear view mirror so he could apply his lipstick properly. If he was going to be dragged out on this crazy night, he was going to look stunning. 

“Someone has to keep you idiots from tormenting that poor bird,” Izo said, glancing in the backseat. Marco was crammed between Ace and Haruta, the bag had been pulled off his head and his hair was standing more on end than usual, crackling with static electricity. 

“Thank you, yoi,” he said in a strained voice as Ace leaned heavily against him grinning and Haruta pressed up on the other side. 

“Tormenting?” Vista said, sounding affronted. “Thatch, no one said anything about tormenting. That’s ungentlemanly.” 

“It’s not ungentlemanly, it’s tradition,” Thatch said irritably, pushing the rear view mirror back in place. Behind them the small motorcade that was following them to the bar had their engines rumbling and a few beeped impatiently. 

“And Vista and I will make sure it stays that way,” Izo said, patting the swordsman’s arm and glad he had someone else in his corner. 

“Exactly right,” Vista said. 

“Ah don’t worry about it, we’ll have fun,” Ace said, tweaking the back of Izo’s hair. “Come on, Thatch! “ 

“Yeah, come on! Let’s shake the lead out!” Haruta chimed in, her voice growly with excitement. Thatch grumbled something and put on his shades despite it being night time like the ass he was before starting the car. If Thatch was in a bad mood about this, Izo felt strangely satisfied. It was about time to nip this chaos in the bud.

\\_/\\_/\\_/

The party at the Rum Run Bar was in full swing by the time they arrived. It was packed with Whitbeards and allies, of course, as well as locals from the town nearby who were taking advantage of Pops buying out the place for his sons’ amusement. They were all entirely too spoiled. Thatch was cannier than even Izo expected and apparently had arranged for Vista’s division to go ahead of them, awaiting their commander with good cheer and manly sparkles and effectively distracting him. There were even two from Izo’s own division. But Izo was not Vista and would not be distracted by friendly faces whilst on a mission.

The two noticed him sitting there and waved happily., spangly bracelets flashing. Izo nodded back serenely. It wasn’t as if he minded them being there. This was a party after all. What he _did_ mind was Thatch kidnapping division commanders and getting everyone drunk, disorderly and invariably, in trouble. For subordinates, it was alright. They were here to play after all. But commanders had to have a certain aura of respectability about them, both to their subordinates and to the locals of the places they protected. First division commanders especially. 

And speaking of Marco. 

Izo spotted the harried phoenix taking a seat at the bar and went to join him, to stop any of Thatch’s mischief stone cold. 

“You’re not going to have relax, yoi?” Marco asked, seeming a bit startled by his presence. He probably wasn’t used to people defending him, poor dear. 

“I came here on a mission,” Izo said, ordering a bottle of sakura wine and sitting back, leaning his elbows on the bar. Thatch was bantering with some of his cronies across the way and looked over at Izo, stopping mid sentence, his eyes narrowing. Izo felt a thrill of victory low and tight in his gut and saluted Thatch with the glass before taking a sip. Marco whistled a low melody and wrote something in his little black betting book. 

“What’s that?” Izo said, curious and leaning into look. Marco flushed and snapped it shut. 

“Nothing,” he said, hiding it back under his sweater. Izo narrowed his eyes. 

“Marco…” Izo said warningly. He had a sneaking suspicion of what it might be and it had better not be what he thought. 

“Statistics,” Marco chirped. And then at Izo’s continued glare added: “About oranges.” 

Oranges his ass. He grunted delicately and looked away, sipping at his drink. 

“No amount of oranges are going to get us together.” A betting pool about the dating prospects of him and that bepompadored idiot! As if that would ever happen in a thousand years. Oh, Izo respected Thatch as a commander of course and loved him as a brother, and also disliked him too— at least his wild side. The reckless moron. So goofy and friendly with everyone and getting all and sundry into trouble after seducing them with his crazy schemes! Well, Izo was one person who was not going to be seduced in any capacity. 

“You should relax, yoi,” Marco said softly. “I’m fine.” 

“I will not.” 

Especially not since Thatch was coming over to them, the set of his jaw telling Izo that he was going to pick a fight. Let him pick one. Izo lifted his chin in challenge, saying he could take anything Thatch had and wouldn’t back down. 

“Are you just going to sit there and be sour faced all night?” Thatch asked as soon as he came in speaking range. Izo shifted, lifted his head and looked at Thatch down his nose. 

“Yes, I plan to. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.” 

“I don’t want to stop you,” Thatch said, jamming his hands in his pockets. “I just want you to stop looking like you’re going to eat a toad.” 

“I’m game!” Haruta called from across the room, raising her glass. The others roared with laughter and Izo felt his face go red. Why was everyone listening so intently?! It had better not be about that little black book or so help him. Izo turned back to face the bar, resting his chin on his fists.

“There. Is that better? Does that please you?” he said huffily, trying not to look at his own red face in the mirror. Honestly. What was it with everyone and…and relationshipping people! Of course Izo did it himself from time to time and wasn’t entirely innocent of adding to the betting pool. But it was different when it was him! And doubly different when Thatch was on the other side.

“No it doesn’t please me,” Thatch said, sitting beside him. He was almost too big for the stool and loomed as he always did. “All I want you to do is enjoy yourself and stop waiting for something to go wrong.”

Izo twisted his head away from the man, though he appreciated at least that he was keeping his voice low. However that did not change some key facts.

“Something always does go wrong,” Izo said. “Two years ago there was that fire.” 

“It was a trash can fire. The worst it did was set off the sprinklers. We had a hell of a wet t-shirt contest.” Thatch was wearing a charming grin, Izo saw in the mirror. But charmed by Ace as Izo may be at times, there was nothing that particular grin would do for him.

“And last year you got Pops arrested.” Well sort of. More or less. It was definitely tied to Thatch’s escapades. Ace hadn’t helped either, but being new and all at that time he hadn’t known better. 

“Maybe, but…” 

“No maybe buts,” Izo said, on a roll now and feeling fantastic. “You are reckless and careless and seem to have no thought to how you influence people down the wrong path.” Izo took a sip of his wine. “Pops has a good name, still, but if you don’t—” Izo stopped, knowing in an instant he had gone too far. He wanted to take the words out of the air, to stuff them back in the shadows where they belonged. He was no longer the person that took hideously dirty shots just to claw his own way to the top of the heap. He was certainly not the person who would do that to a brother. 

“You want to finish that statement?” Thatch said in a low soft voice that Izo rarely heard from him. There was an edge to it. A darkness. Like a snake coiling, ready to strike. 

“Thatch go have a smoke,” Marco said, sliding the pack down the bar. Thatch hesitated for a moment then grabbed it, the paper crumpling under his hand as he left, brushing by one of his own division who went to ask him a question and then quailed back before even finishing it. The only other evidence of his anger was the door slamming behind him so loud the windows rattled. 

The room went quiet. Izo felt his face sting. He should probably—

Marco put a hand on his arm as he started to get up. But didn’t bother to stop Ace who went out after him. No one could stop Ace anyway. They just pretended they could sometimes. Izo sighed and felt faintly jealous, though couldn’t pinpoint why. Instead he just stared at the reflection of colored lights in his wine and wondered at going from such a high point to feeling like a mongrel dog in under two seconds. 

“I didn’t mean to…” Izo started in a murmur.

“I know.” Marco steepled his fingers, resting them against his lips as he looked at the bar. “You were trying to help.” 

“And I still am!” Izo said, rallying a little. “I know that he means well but he just doesn’t _think_.” 

“Not all the time, no.” 

“And I can forgive the fire but the Pops incident was just ridiculous and you are always a mess so I don’t understand why you let yourself be dragged in.” He tossed back the rest of his pinoit and then poured himself another, wishing he was drunk enough to be gauche enough to drink from the bottle. “Other then that you can’t resist him.” 

“I can,” Marco said. “So can the other commanders. That’s why they are commanders, yoi. Maybe they complain after but it’s in good fun. None of them can say they didn’t decide to come here of their own free will.” 

“Yes, I get that… But…” 

“Pops more than anyone. He is the Captain, the Boss. If he lets Thatch talk him into it, it’s because he wants to. And it irritates me, too,” Marco said, holding up a hand before Izo could speak. “And I want to strangle Thatch for putting the idea into Pops’ head and giving him the means to carry it out. But…” Marco sighed. “It’s like when I told no one to go onto Maui because there was a task force there.” 

Izo felt a jolt go through him and poured more wine. Marco knew about that? He was sure they’d managed to keep it quiet. Granted it was hard to keep a pitched battle in bikinis and swim trunks too quiet, but Marco had been in the middle of Chicago at the time. 

“Thatch planned that one, too,” Marco said calmly. 

“Yes, but we had been going to vacation there anyway,” Izo said, taking a careful sip. “And the retellings were blown all out of proportion.” 

“Exactly why we had to pull shrapnel out of Jiru’s ass, yoi,” Marco said. “But you did it because you wanted to and you knew I wouldn’t like it and it felt good to be sneaky. Same with Pops except he doesn’t often get to be sneaky in small ways like he’s used to. Thatch makes sure he has the opportunity now and then.” 

“Yes but you didn’t speak to Pops for two weeks after,” Izo said, peering at him. And kicked Thatch’s ass for the same amount of time. A vein throbbed on Marco’s temple and his smile looked like twisted wire for a moment. 

“I didn’t say I liked it, yoi. I just understand it. I’d rather you be _safe_ than sneaky. I wish it wasn’t _fun_ to be sneaky. It’s definitely not fun to molt yourself bald wondering how you’re going to bribe fifteen corrupt cops to get your father and a dozen of your brothers out of prison without them being sent straight to maximum security.” 

At least in Maui they hadn’t been caught, Izo reflected. But he put a soothing hand on Marco’s shoulders and rubbed his back. 

“Molting bald is definitely bad,” Izo said, and then softly teasing. “You don’t have much left to go.” He kissed Marco’s temple to take the tiny sting out of that tease and ruffled his blond hair. He saw Marco’s own drink was low and refilled it, holding back his long sleeve in a delicate way so Marco could see the refined technique. Not because Izo wanted to show off, but because it was beautiful and graceful and Marco always did appreciate grace.

Then he poured himself more wine and mulled over what the first division commander had told him. It was all true, of course Izo knew that. And he knew it was hypocritical to be okay about Maui but not this—which seemed like far more intimate trouble somehow. A part of it, too, was due to the natural competition they had. Somehow Izo always wanted to win around Thatch. Wanted to be the cleverer one. To beat him at his own game. They were so alike in many ways.

There was one thing though. One thing he had to ask. 

“And you don’t…mind being hungover for days?” he asked. Marco laughed unexpectedly and wrapped an arm around Izo’s shoulders, pulling him close and planting a kiss on his head, before saying: 

“When have you ever known me to be drunk?” 

Well…yes granted Marco did seem to put a lot away without even getting tipsy. The phoenix in him he said, and Izo supposed that was true. But…if it was true then… why? 

“Phoenixes don’t get sick either, yoi,” he murmured as if reading Izo’s mind. “And people would get worried if I faked it.” 

“Why on earth would you fake it?” Izo said, surprised. Marco didn’t reply and so Izo had to think it through himself. What could Marco gain by faking sick? Well—what did he gain by faking being hungover? And then Izo knew. Three days of everyone tiptoing around him, crooning poor Marco, giving him blankets, giving him tea, letting him snuggle in their lap in bird form for hours—having complete control of the TV whenever he wanted it. 

“You cad,” Izo said with a faint laugh. 

“Can you forget you realized?” Marco asked.

“Of course.” Because Marco deserved to be pampered now and again. To relax. To be sneaky in a place where it didn’t matter. Where all his brothers could know he was being sneaky and still love on him and dote on him because that was what family did. 

Family…also did something else more important. Izo disentangled himself from Marco and grabbed a bottle of rum before heading, slightly unsteadly, out the door. He had had…perhaps more than he thought. But never mind. Outside was cold and crisp and dancing with lights. Izo regretted not stopping to put his coat on, but didn’t turn back. He could see Thatch and Ace smoking under the streetlight by the sidewalk. Izo couldn’t tell if they had spoken. They didn’t seem to need to sometimes. Izo felt another stab of jealousy. Why did everyone but him seem to understand Thatch so well? 

“Yo, Izo,” Ace said, catching Thatch’s attention. Izo bit back the irritation as the larger man looked annoyed and then schooled his face into a blank expression. Izo wasn’t sure what pissed him off more. But he pushed that down and made his way, somewhat unsteadily, onto the curb…and then…hell with it, faked a near fall. Thatch caught his arm in an instant steadying him. Ace grinned broadly as if he saw right through it and Izo flushed, but the freckled kid said nothing, just stuffed a hand into his pocket and ambled off down the sidewalk, smoking idly. 

“It’s freezing out here,” Thatch muttered, putting his own cigarette out before rubbing Izo’s hand between both of his and breathing on it. His breath smelled of smoke and booze and Izo should be repelled by that but there was something about him that looked magnified under the lamplight. He seemed realer than real. And far more charming in just his presence alone than Izo knew what to do with. 

“It is freezing,” Izo said, handing him the rum. “So you’d better accept my apology because I’m not leaving until you do.” 

And maybe he wasn’t leaving in any case becuase now that his hands were free he could slip them underneath Thatch’s open jacket (leather of course), and since he was going that far he could slide his hands over the man’s warm sides and up his back, pressing flush against him and tilting his head to look into his face. Thatch looked down at him, a faint smile curling one side of his mouth. 

“I’m sorry for being an ass,” Izo murmured before he forgot what he came out here to apologize for. 

“I’m sorry, for being an ass, too,” Thatch murmured, putting a hand on the small of Izo’s back. That felt good. Very warm. Izo’s face warmed further as he remembered just what those hands could do. What that mouth could do. They could take it further. They had before. Always inching a little closer toward a goal that Izo wasn’t entirely sure about.

Though as Thatch dipped his head and Izo rose the short distance to meet him, he wondered if he cared. This was warm. It was beautiful. It send heat crawling through his veins. The dangerous kind that made him want to throw all caution to the wind and just melt, come what may and hell to pay. As they pulled apart, Izo looked into his eyes, knowing Thatch would do what he asked if he asked it. There was so much though. So much to consider. So much to be cautious of. 

He hesitated. The words were on his lips when the sound of a car distracted him and Ace’s cheerful voice saying: 

“Hey, you made it!” 

“Zehahaha! Sorry I’m late!” came Teach’s voice. Izo shifted to look over his shoulder and watched the man and few more of Ace’s subordinates get out of the car. Teach spotted them and raised a hand. 

“Hey. Hope I’m not interrupting anything.” 

“I dunno, Marshall,” Thatch said, glancing down at Izo once more with a slow grin. “Is he?” 

Izo could give in. Wanted to. And would, one day. But sometimes the slow burn was better. Sometimes more fun to put the other through the dance. Coming in close, moving away and so on until there was nowhere left to move. 

“I think we’re done,” Izo said, watching Thatch’s eyes as he moved his nails lightly down the man’s spine, hidden under the bulk of the jacket. He felt Thatch shudder and watched goosebumps rise on his skin. “For now,” Izo murmured. Then pressed a kiss against Thatch’s jaw and moved back toward the bar. 

This kind of thing had never been his idea of a fun night but—as long as Thatch was happy with it, he could give it a shot. After all, he thought, looking over his shoulder at Thatch following behind— he had something to keep him entertained.


	15. Christmas Shoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanji's still not used to a 'normal' life or seventh grade. He's not sure about this shitty Usopp kid either. But in the end it's nice to have someone to talk to, and the faint beginnings of home can be where you least expect it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in [Remedyverse](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1136454).

Sanji rests his chin on the counter and stares at the bag of the unopened chips resting there. A customer must have left them behind when the shitty old man closed up shop for the afternoon to head to his doctor’s appointment. Sanji tried not to think about it and had tried all day through school. Not that shitty seventh grade meant anything. He just wants to be the best shitty cook in the world and doesn’t need school for that. But the crap geezer said it was the law and that it’d probably do him good if he let it. He doesn’t want to let it. He wants to come back here and cook

—and he would have to cook extra hard if the shitty old man got any worse. They needed all the money they could get so the Little Baratie would have to stay open longer and Sanji’d have to do all the work, not that he minded. But that jerk better not be dying or anything or Sanji would kick his ass. He blinks hard and straightens, eyeing the stupid bag of chips. 

They are Doritos.

He doesn’t care because he doesn’t even like chips. Especially the kind that leave gunk on his fingers. 

And he isn’t hungry. 

And they have plenty of food in the pantry in the restaurant. 

But Sanji can imagine opening them anyway. Feeling the resistance of the bag and the soft almost nonsound of pulling open the bag to see all the triangles within that wouldn’t taste bad and would leave an aftertaste on his tongue that he could chase around the corners of his mouth even when it had been gone for hours. He wants to open them just to smell…

Cursing to himself, he grabs the chips and shoves them in a drawer. Out of sight, out of shitty mind. And he has work to do. He ties an apron on and sweeps up. Then puts the new and expensive Baratie Parfait sign on the glass window just by the door. Then he drags the ladder outside, and the small box of second-hand lights they’d bought at a yard sale and spent an afternoon meticulously untangling and checking for burnt out bulbs. 

It is chilly outside and even chillier atop the ladder, but Sanji pulls his coat further around his neck and tells himself not to mind. He stables a few lights in place and his stomach grumbles. He thinks of the shitty chips again. He knows where they are. He knows what they’ll taste like. 

Sanji sets his jaw and then peers down the street, first one way, then the other, before huddling in front of the store, hunching his shoulders to protect himself from the wind and lights a cigarette. Yeah. This is good. He chews on the filter a bit before taking a soft draw and blowing the smoke to the wind, watching it wind out. He probably looks so cool. Like one of those shitty Marlboro Cowboys. These aren’t those kind though. These are shitty second hand smokes he buys dearly off the kid from behind the high school, since the crap geezer won’t buy him any as it’s against the law. 

Shitty laws. 

A man should smoke when he’s gotta. He snorts smoke through his nose and then nearly chokes on it as a voice below says: 

“Woah! You smoke?! That is so so so bad for you.” 

“What the hell…” Sanji mutters peering down. There’s a kid from his class looking up at him and Sanji curses, knowing he’s caught red-handed. It’s the kid that talks a lot too and lies about shitty everything. He’s not really that bad just annoying and even more annoying when he’s standing down there with his long nose pointed up and maybe going to get Sanji in some shitty trouble for it. 

“Mind your own business,” Sanji says, but puts out the cigarette anyway even though it’s not finished and such a damn waste. 

“Okay.” The kid says, still peering up. Sanji’s got two staples in before the kid says: “I got a cousin who almost died from lung cancer, you know. But then I found a magic mushroom that made him grow a new lung. So if you do get sick from that I guess I can help you out.” 

“Good to know,” Sanji mutters, stapling up more lights then climbing down to move the ladder. He has to shoo the kid out of the way and then climb again. It’s frustrating because his mouth feels like a hollow cave and he has nothing to work between his teeth. He can’t even taste lunch in his mouth anymore, though he remembers it was a bolongna sandwich and a cucumber spinach salad and two apples and some milk that he got for fifty-cents out of the melted ice tray in the lunch line. He can remember it though, if he tries. The water taste of the cucumbers. Biting into the crunchy apple that ran juice down his wrist. 

“Do you need help?” the kid asks, busting the imaginary bubble all to hell. 

“No,” says Sanji getting down, moving the ladder over, and climbing back up again. 

“I’ll do it for some money. I’m not afraid of heights. I used to be a monkey in a past life.” 

“I don’t need any shitty help,” Sanji says, exasperated. Then, immedaitely feeling bad, stops what he’s doing and looks down at the kid, resting his cheek against the cold metal ladder. “Anyway I don’t have any shitty money to give you.” 

The real question is, why does the kid need it? He doesn’t seem poor. Well maybe he was by some shitty standard, Sanji guesses, because poor is different in different places. Back where he’s from, poor meant sunken faces and counting ribs through the holes in desperate clothes. The kid looks fed enough. His clothes look clean enough, only a little worn maybe. He even has shoes that light up when he walks so not too poor, maybe. 

“You own a restaurant though,” the kid says, scratching his nose. “You have to have some money.” 

“What we have are shitty bills.” Sanji staples up a few more lights. 

“It’s like that with mom, too,” the kid says. “Once she gets better we’re going to be in a real pickle jar. But she can come and work here, maybe? She’s a five star cook and was on Iron Chef nine times!” 

“Nine times, eh?” Sanji says. He doesn’t believe it for shit, but the kid sounds so enthusiastic about it that Sanji doesn’t want to call him out on it. What would be the point? Anyway for all he knows she could be. Though that is getting less and less believable as the kid launches into the story. Sanji kind of likes that story better anyhow. Anyone can be a shitty Iron Chef if they practice hard enough, but to fight a man -eating lobster while doing it takes talent. 

The kid’s story winds down just about the time that Sanji finishes the last light and he climbs down the ladder, feeling chilled. The sun is starting to go down and Ze— the crap geezer isn’t back yet. Shit he should have gone with him. What if he fell down somewhere or got another shitty fever? What if it was bad news and they didn’t know who to call? What if—

“You’re doing it again,” the kid says. Sanji blinks at him and the kid points with his free hand. Sanji realizes he’s gotten out a cigarette without even realizing it… but so damn what. He looks at the kid and lights it anyway. Let the kid tell anyone he wants. Sanji will smoke when he wants to. 

“You’re gonna die!” the kid says. 

“I’m not gonna die,” Sanji says, not even sure how he feels about this whole shitty conversation. “You’ve got your magical shitty mushroom lungs right?”

“Ye-yeah I guess so.’ The kid bites his lip. Shifts from foot to foot. Clutches the bent shoebox under his arm and then blurts out: “That was a lie! I mean I could probably find a mushroom but…” 

“Do you want something to eat?” Sanji asks, cutting the kid off. Not that he doesn’t want to hear the shitty story, but he’d hear it better if his hands were busy with something. He can’t open the store by himself because he is underage and there are laws, shitty laws, but at least he can make something for this kid who has kept him company. 

“Um…” the kid blinks. Then points to the parfait sign. “Can I have one of those?” 

“Yeah okay.” 

“But you can’t smoke,” the kid says. Sanji gives him a baleful look, then sucks down the cigarette as fast as he can. The kid frowns as hard as he could, which is pretty damn hard, and in the end Sanji isn’t shitty satisfied with it. His mouth tastes like ash and he’s burnt the tip of his tongue. He sighs out a cloud of smoke and stubs the cigarette out. 

“Help me get the ladder in.” 

“Okay.” 

As they finagle it in the door, Sanji asks the kid what his name is. Usopp Syrup as it turns out. Son of Yasopp Syrup who is going to be a world famous pirate and going to explore all the mysteries of the world and then find new ones and fight off giant octopus monsters with his teeth. The story is so damn long that Sanji’s still listening to it as he peels the orange for the ki— Usopp’s parfait. But it’s not a bad story and Sanji finds himself carried along by it, moving almost on instinct as he works. 

“When Mom gets better, Dad will come back and take us with him,” Usopp says. The second mention of that. Sanji wants to ask what was the matter with her. But Usopp looks pretty damn happy right now so Sanji doesn’t really want to bring it up. Instead he notices the shoebox sitting on the counter. 

“What’s that?” he asks, throwing the orange peels away and beginning to dice up some honeydew. Usopp frowns faintly, resting a hand over the buckled lid. 

“It’s money,” he says. “I’m going to buy a gift for mom and has to be awesome.” 

“What are you going to buy her?” Sanji asks as he sprinkles some granola on top of the parfait and sticks a long spoon in it before sliding it over. “Have a shitty parfait.” 

“Oh thanks,” Usopp says, digging in, then makes a pleased sound and eats a few more bites until his cheeks bulge. Maybe he’s not really starving or anything, but Sanji gets the feeling he hasn’t had food of any shitty quality for a while. As he waits for Usopp to resume talking, he cleans up his small mess and gets himself a glass of water so he can chew on the straw. 

“I’m gonna get her this,” Usopp says with a cheekful of strawberry. He opens the shoebox and pulls out a folded magazine. Sanji takes it, slurping at the water. It’s an ad for a pair of shoes. They’re pretty enough, he guesses. Very shitty red and kind of flashy. There’s some writing in green down at the bottom. 

“Wizard of Oz,” Sanji murmurs. 

“Yeah,” Usopp gives him a weird look. “Haven’t you heard of it?” 

Sanji shakes his head and glares as Usopp laughs. 

“Wow really? Have you been living under a rock?” 

“You want to make something of it, shitty longnose?” he says, rising to his feet. He’s been busy okay? And they haven’t had the time to even settle down until now. Usopp just grins and holds up his hands. 

“Okay! Haha don’t worry, I’ll fill you in.” He pops his jacket collar and then leans his elbows on the table, opens his mouth and then shuts it waving a hand. “No that’d take too long. Let me sum up.” He glances at Sanji as if waiting for something but like hell Sanji knows what it is so he just watches him back. Usopp hangs his head. 

“You are so uncultured.” 

“Just tell me the shitty story already.” 

So first it’s about this girl Dorothy. And her dog. And this evil old woman. And it’s in Kansas where everything is flat and grey. Plus her parents died at sea, but that’s only in in the books. As Sanji listens he gets the feeling it’s less of a shitty summing up and more of the whole story and then some. But he doesn’t mind. It’s interesting to hear and it keeps his mind off things as he sweeps the shop again and turns on the lights, then makes some sandwiches for them both as the December night darkens outside the little window. 

It’s an interesting story, too. Though the battle with the giant tribe of cannibal cyclopses seemed a bit out of place. The shoes are magic shitty shoes that she can eventually click her heels and return home —which she does because that’s where she belongs and her family is there waiting for her. Sanji can’t help but wonder what that’s like to have a home to want to go back to. Somewhere with an aunt and an uncle waiting and just going about your shitty day. He could see the shitty appeal of both places and he wasn’t sure where he’d rather be. 

“It’s a cool story,” Sanji says, refilling Usopp’s glass with milk and taking the dirty plate. 

“It’s our favorite!” Usopp says happily. “We watch it every Christmas.” 

“Shitty expensive shoes, though.” Seventy-five dollars. His own shoes had been half as much and they were reinforced with steel plating in the soles. Usopp seems to deflate at this. His shoulders hunching as he forlornly stirs his milk with the straw.

“I know…” 

“How much have you got?” 

“Ten,” Usopp murmurs. “Twenty if my Dad sends a card this year. But I guess maybe not because he cares about us, he does a lot! But Mom’s…been in the hospital…a while so…” He trails off and shrugs. Shitty hospital. Shitty money. Sanji watches him and sighs, putting a cig between his lips but not lighting it or the crap cook would know and would bake him into a pie.

“You can work here if you want,” Sanji says, putting his hands in his pockets. Usopp’s head shoots up. 

“Really? You mean it?!” 

“Yeah… but you gotta shitty work, get it?” He points at him. “And not whine about it.” They don’t really have the money, but Sanji still gets wages and can pay Usopp out of them. It won’t be much but Christmas Eve is about a week and a half away so hopefully by that time Usopp will have enough.

“No problem!” Usopp says with a grin. “I’ve been working in diners—”

“Restaurant.” 

“Restaurants since I was three! I’ll be great! Not a problem!” He flexes his arms and Sanji can’t help but grin a bit. Usopp’s eyes flicker upward and his face falls a bit. “If…that’s alright with you, sir.” 

Sanji starts and turns to see Zeff towering over them, frowning as usual. Does he look paler than before? More drawn? His eyes more hollow? It’s hard to tell, but he doesn’t look happy. Sanji wants to ask. He chews on the question between his teeth. But the crap cook is peering at Usopp and then looks at Sanji with a raised eyebrow. 

“A new employee?” 

“Just for the season,” Sanji says, caging his shoulders and waiting for the shitty fight. “I’ll pay him from my own wages.” 

“Is that so?” the crap cook says. Then raising his head. “Whats your name?” 

Usopp jolted as if he’d been shocked. 

“Usopp, sir. Syrup. Usopp Syrup. I don’t have to work here if it’s a problem I have two part time jobs so it’s fine if—” 

“It’s fine with me if that’s what he wants to do,” the crap cook says, pulling his gloves from his greatcoat pocket. “Do you need a ride home, Syrup?” 

“Uh…” Usopp looks over his shoulder at the dark outside. “Yes, please.” 

“I’ll get the car started then.” And he stumps off, seeming to lean harder than ever on his prosthetic leg. Sanji tries not to look at it too hard because then Usopp might ask and he doesn’t want to talk about it. But sometimes when he sees it, he can’t help but think about that time. 

“Your Dad is pretty cool,” Usopp says in a hushed voice. 

“Not my dad,” Sanji says automatically, sliding off his chair to get his own coat. “When you finish your shitty milk you can put the glass in the sink.”

*o*o*o*

Usopp’s house is small and almost at the very end of a neighborhood that seems to starting to be crumbling around the edges. There are a lot of for sale signs and not a lot of lights. No Christmas decorations to speak of. Not that he and the crap geezer have any of that shit themselves outside of the decorating the Little Baratie, but it seems to Sanji that a lot of lights is healthy. Usopp’s house has lights though, wrapped around the splintery railing of the sagging porch and drooping of the tree house in the back yard. Sanji is a little shitty jealous of it. He’d like to have a treehouse to climb in when he liked. But that was for kids. Not him.

“I’ve still got some stuff to do,” Usopp says, giving Sanji the box to hold while he jangles the door keys. Even though it’s just a shoebox, Sanji can’t help but feel that it’s important, especially as he hears the scrape of change against the bottom of the cardboard. Usopp opens the door and leads them in. Sanji has to goggle a bit as he turns on the light. It’s full of …stuff. The Christmas decorations lying in piles everywhere aside, there are other things too. Pictures. Photo Albums. Drawings. There’s a spotted lady bug dress that Usopp hurridly folds up and goes toward the back hall with. There’s also video tapes and an old TV and a lonely tree leaning up against the far wall shedding pine needles. It’s a shitty house for people to live in and Sanji clenches his fingers against the box, feeling something empty in the pity of his belly. 

“Do you live here alone?” Zeff asks, lifting a long strand of glittering garland. 

“Yeah,” Usopp says, coming back, looking even smaller now that he’s taken off his coat. He startles then for some reason and looks away. “I mean uh…No. I don’t. My uh uncle lives here, too. That’s his stuff.” He gestures vaguely to where there’s a long black coat hung on a peg. “And when he’s not here, the neighbor lady goes shopping for me and stuff. I’m very self sufficient.” He holds out his hands toward Sanji and Sanji realizes he’s reaching for his precious box, which Sanji gives him. 

It’s a lie that Sanji can’t even believe and he’s not sure the crap cook believes either. Zeff says nothing though, but is scratching his jaw and contemplating. Usopp looks between the two of them and grins. 

“Hey, you guys wanna stay for dinner? I can make it!” 

“Allow me,” Zeff says, shedding his coat and putting it over the easy chair. “Stay here and help out baby eggplant. Don’t need you underfoot.” He reaches to ruffle Sanji’s hair and Sanji scowls and jerks away.

“I’m not a shitty eggplant, crap geezer! And I can cook shitty dinner too!” 

“You said it not me,” the crap cook said, and Sanji realized what he’d just said, and seethed. Mostly because Zeff was laughing at him with the crinkle of his eyes and it made Sanji want to kick him in the shin. Only he didn’t want to get kicked back into the shitty wall and nurse a sore stomach for a while. 

“You guys are really close, huh?” Usopp says as Zeff goes back into the kitchen. 

“Shut up,” Sanji grumbles, pulling off his scarf and then his coat. And then he doesn’t know what to do. Just looks around at the jumble of stuff and fights the urge to go into the kitchen and prove to the crap cook that he can cook a good meal. Maybe it’s still basic stuff for now, but it’s _good_. Also, damn, he wants a shitty cigarette. It feels like it’s been hours. 

“Hey…uh…you wanna help me set up the tree?” Usopp says. 

“Okay…” might as well. “Can I smoke?” 

“No!” 

“Stingy,” Sanji mutters, kicking at the carpet. Usopp scowls at him and thrusts a rattling box in his hands. Inside is a mess of ornaments of all different shapes and sizes. 

“Sort through these and watch out for hooks and broken ones. I dropped them getting them down from the attic when a giant moth attacked me.” 

He huffs and sits on the floor, then gets up to dig out Zeff’s leather gloves from his coat so he won’t cut his fingers accidentally. The gloves are too big on him and it’s kind of awkward—and it smells like leather and Zeff and faintly hospitals, but Sanji tries not to think about that either. Usopp hums then grunts as he struggles with the tree, setting it upright and wrapping a cloth around its base. 

“We should watch a movie,” Usopp says. “How about Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer?” 

“They made a movie out of that shitty song?” Sanji says surprised. Usopp puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head solemnly.

“Your education is sadly lacking.” Then he straightens and jabs a thumb at himself, grinning broadly. “Luckily I’m here to help! Trust Teacher Usopp! I’ll show you everything that needs to be shown!” 

The movie is pretty good as it turns out. As is Frosty the Snowman which they have to pause as the crap geezer calls them into dinner. It’s a good dinner . The ingredients are a little stale and shitty low quality. It doesn’t surprise him because he’d already guessed it. But it’s good. Really good. Usopp keeps asking him where he got the groceries since he was sure he hadn’t had anything like that in the house.

Sanji can’t help but boggle, too. How does Zeff do it? How does he make ordinary stuff taste so shitty delicious? He’s tempted to save some just in case as he cleans up after their impromptu dinner. But all too soon notices the state of Usopp’s kitchen. There’s not much in it. The fridge is practically empty except a carton of near expired milk and some fast food stuff stored away. The freezer is packed with TV dinners. The kind that are more shitty sugar than nutrition. The pantry has really old flour, expired maybe three years ago and three cans of peas, a can of mushrooms, and half a bag of off brand cereal puffs. 

It’s food but it’s shit food and Sanji wonders if he can sneak a few groceries in here somehow so that Usopp can at least get the stuff he needs to get stronger without having to rely on shitty school lunches. He finishes washing up the dishes, then sneaks out to get a smoke, and when he comes back in, Frosty the Snowman is paused onscreen as Usopp hums to himself and throws tinsel at the tree. The couch has been cleaned off and the crap geezer is snoring on it. Sanji watches him. He’s never passed out like that before. Not since they started getting places to stay. And he hates sleeping on the couch. He must be really shitty tired. 

“Do you mind if we stay the night?” Sanji asks and Usopp just grins so brightly that Sanji wonders how shitty lonely he’s gotta be around here.

*o*o*o*

As it turned out, they spent more than one night there, Zeff commuting to the Little Baratie each morning. For some reason the heat in the apartment got turned off while the heat in the restaurant had it and Sanji didn’t really understand why until all of a sudden one day he did. Usopp was all alone in the house. Sometimes the neighbor would bleat like a goat over the fence, but there were no uncles to speak of. Or anyone else for that matter. Somehow knowing the truth behind it relaxed him, even though Zeff had to go back to the shitty hospital once and wouldn’t say why. That day Sanji had spent most of the day smoking out on the porch and Usopp hadn’t complained once. Just suggested they go to the treehouse and sat with him as they watched the shitty grey day go by.

Other than that, things were going pretty good and Sanji felt better than he ever had just having someone to talk to and watch shit with. He’d known a lot of the Disney movies already but there was a whole slew of Holiday Movies that he had never seen, let alone heard of. They didn’t get to watch many movies, though, because as school was let out, business at the Little Baratie picked up and soon they were working so shitty hard even Sanji thought his feet would fall off. But Zeff had let him behind the grill twice by himself and he couldn’t help but feel damn proud as he watched the customers eat his plain but _good_ food. Usopp was working hard, too, doing the dishes in the back and chatting with the customers happily. 

It was…good. Really good. 

Then on the day before Christmas Even, Usopp bought his shoes. 

It’s Christmas Eve now and Sanji looks at the shoes flashing and dancing in the light as they walk across the hospital parking lot, his stomach jumping from shitty nerves, Zeff stumping behind them. Usopp is smiling and holding them proudly, even as snow flutters down and wets the tissue paper around them in the box. The wet only makes the shoes stand out more, though. 

_There’s no place like home,_ Sanji thinks, having seen the movie three times by now and probably will again when they get ho— back to Usopp’s house. When they get in the hospital proper, Sanji wrinkles his nose at the smell and even the shoes seem to dim a little. Usopp clutches the box a little tighter as they take the elevator up, and Sanji’s nerves tangle even more. He wants a smoke but he knows he can’t sneak one here. So he chews on some gum instead, though it’s lost its taste and is just a rubbery glob in his mouth. 

“Are you sure it’s okay?” Sanji asks as the elevator doors hiss open and they step out into the pale hallway and green speckled floor. “I can wait outside.” 

“It’s fine,” Usopp says, smiling. “Mom would want to see you.” 

But his eyes are wide and there’s a shitty twitch to his smile which seems to say that he doesn’t want to go in there alone. Sanji understands the feeling and just nods, wiping his damp palms on his jeans. The crap geezer levers himself into a chair just outside the room. Usopp pauses just out of sight of the open door, fumbling to put the lid on the box and dropping it. Sanji picks it up and fits it on securely and Usopp lets out a shaky breath, mouthing: Thanks. 

Then they go in. 

The woman is dying. Sanji can tell. He’s seen too many shitty dying people. Her face is pale and her skin taut against her skull. Her hair is listless on the pillow and there are dark smudges around her eyes. Tubes drape from her arm and nose as the fwoosh hiss of a respirator fills the air. Sanji chews hard on his shitty gum. He’s seen dying people. But it’s been really long since it was anyone he knew. Or even knew through someone else. 

The woman’s eyes flutter open as Usopp comes to her shitty bedside. Sanji starts to follow then stops midway across the room, uncertain. 

“Hey, Mom,” Usopp says, his eyes glassy. “Guess what? Dad’s on his way back! He says it’s gonna take him a little bit but don’t worry, he’ll be here tomorrow.” 

“Oh Usopp,” she murmurs, though he can barely hear her voice. “Don’t lie like that.” Her fingers twitch and lift a little off the bed but she doesn’t even have the shitty strength to do more than that. 

“It’s true,” Usopp says. “You’ll see. Oh… and look, Mom! I found something.” He opened the box and showed her. A smile lit her face and for a moment she didn’t look sick at at all. 

“They’re beautiful,” she says, raising her hand finally and touching Usopp’s arm. “Help me put them on?” 

Usopp scrubs at his face and nods, sniffing. Sanji realizes that he’s not needed anymore and backs out of the room, blinking as his eyes are smarting. Out in the hall, a white haired man who looks alarmingly like a sheep is talking to Zeff. Zeff meets Sanji’s his eyes and nods as if telling him to close the door. 

The sheep man smiles at Sanji as he comes closer. 

“You must be Sanji,” the man says, holding out a hand. “You can call me Merry. I’m Usopp’s new caseworker.” 

Sanji doesn’t take it. He’s not sure he can really shitty move. 

“Usopp’s busy,” he says tightly. He knows what a caseworker is supposed to do. He saw those movies. His mother is still alive, isn’t she? And in the meantime they’re taking care of things. Merry’s smile flickers, and he retracts his hand. 

“Don’t worry,” he says. “It’s all been arranged with your Dad here.” 

“Not—” Sanji stops. Zeff isn’t his Dad but he doesn’t want to tell this guy that. It’s too hard to explain and Sanji is not leaving Zeff because of some shitty laws. He owes the man too damn much and he has to be there to help get the shitty Little Baratie off the ground until they can make it a full sized Baratie. 

“Yes, well, I am just hear to chat with Mrs. Syrup. After that I’ll be on my way.” 

Sanji sits next to Zeff stiffly, waiting for the man to screw off so he can ask the crap cook what the shit is going on. Merry seems to get the hint and excuses himself for coffee. Sanji jams his hands into his coat pockets and chews furiously on his shitty gum. 

“What’s been arranged?” 

“We’ll stay with him through Christmas,” Zeff says. 

“And then what?” 

“That’s up to the caseworker.” 

“That’s shit!” Sanji explodes. A nurse glares at him and he quails a bit but then gets up so he can glare at the crap geezer. He knew what had happened. What had to have happened. “You told on him didn’t you?”  
Zeff nodded, looking Sanji steadily in the eyes like there was nothing bad about this at all. 

“Why did you do that?” Sanji asks. “We could have taken care of shit!” 

“What we have is fragile, Sanji,” Zeff says. The use of his name hits him right in the gut and he scowls, bracing his feet and resiting the urge to kick something. “If it shakes loose, we’ll drag the kid down with us.” 

He doesn’t want it to be like that. He wants to argue Zeff down. To say something. Anything. But there is nothing to say. He knew it is true. Usopp is nice, but he is soft and sad. He doesn’t know what it’s like to starve or to run or to learn to fight hardscrabble gangs just to live til the next day. 

“And what about you?” Sanji asks. 

“I’m fine, baby eggplant.” 

Sanji glares at him. He owes the crap geezer too much just to let him shitty die. Sanji doesn’t care if he has to shake down every shitty doctor on the planet. 

“I’m not sick. I promise,” Zeff says, then sighs gustily. “But our colleague is. Maybe just as bad as that woman in there.” The crap geezer looks at some spot beyond Sanji. “He wants to make sure those responsible regret it.” 

That takes the anger right out of him and Sanji has to sit down before his legs shake even the tiniest bit. He slumps in the chair, his hands in his pockets and stares at the linoleum. There is silence except for the hushed sounds of the elevator and voices over the loudspeaker calling doctors here and there. 

“They were supposed to leave us alone,” Sanji mutters. 

“I know,” Zeff says. “If it’s any consolation it’s probably the last job.”

“And you were going to go alone, shitty old man,” Sanji mutters, feeling a dull anger. “With your shitty leg and everything.” He knocks the prosthetic with the side of his foot. _And whose fault is it that it’s like that?_ says a snide voice in his mind. _Whose fault is it that Zeff had to get in this life to begin with and looking after some annoying kid?_

“I was hoping you’d be settled first.” Zeff stretches out his legs. “Have some sort of life for yourself.” 

“Don’t treat me like a damn kid!” Sanji snaps, sitting up and then lower as the nurse looks at him furious. “I’m going to come with you whether you like or not.” 

To his surprise, Zeff smiles, though just with one corner of his mouth, closing his eyes. 

“Suit yourself.”

“When?” Sanji asks, looking at the tops of his shoes and wondering how soft he’s gotten in the past few shitty months of nothing. He’ll need to practice hard. These things are always dangerous and he’s almost gotten killed twice. One time they both had nearly lost everything. So he’ll have to be on his best game.

“Middle of January.” 

That shitty soon? Fine. He can deal with that. He’ll just have to— 

The door opens distracting him and Usopp comes out, looking red-eyed but happy. 

“She’s sleeping,” he says. “She says the shoes made her feel a lot better and she’ll be fine by New Years! Isn’t that great?” 

“It’s shitty fantastic,” Sanji says with a wide grin. Because even though there is trouble ahead— Usopp has trouble right now. That doesn’t mean they can’t have a good shitty Christmas. “Hey, let’s go home alright? Make sure it’s great for her.” 

“Okay,” Usopp says with a smile. “That sounds good.”


	16. The Most Famous Reindeer of All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two days out of Drum and Chopper is still uncertain about things. It's not that he wants to go home, and it's not that he's afraid, but some things take a little more courage than others and the first step starts with cookies.

It’s the second morning out and he can’t see Drum anymore. Chopper rests his chin on the railing and stares at the sea, calm and looking like a ripply gray blanket. There is still a sense of snow in the air, he can smell it. Nami says it’s because they’re still in Drum’s weather—though he thought it was the same everywhere. It’s strange to think that’s not true. Karoo had just been explaining last night, pretty tipsy though he was, about how hot it was in Alabasta, especially when there hadn’t been rain in ages. It will be interesting to see…

But he wishes he could see Drum, too. There is a sense of adventure in his heart and he wants to go see the world and find all the cures— but he already misses the old castle on the drum top and the familiar paths and scents of his home island. It makes his eyes water but he sets his jaw and stubbornly holds back. It just means he has to be a better adventurer, that’s all! To look forward to all the neat, and kind of scary, stuff, and not back at the familiar and (sort of) safe stuff. 

Okay! 

…but that doesn’t mean he still can’t watch for a moment longer, though there’s nothing to see. 

He tries to get used to the sea instead. The salt air. The uncertain pitch of the ship beneath his hooves. The gulls wheeling overhead, flying toward land, voices too muffled for him to make out but he thinks they’re talking about snow. If he flicks his ears he can hear a little better— and the grunting snores of Zoro in the crow’s nest. Karoo is sleeping in the men’s room, out of the cold, but Chopper can hear his faint quacks, too, and the rumblings and murmurings of the others sleeping still. He’s not used to having so many people around to listen to. 

A sudden clanging from behind makes him jump, back fur standing on end as he skitters around in a panicked circle trying to find a place to hide before finally hiding behind the mast, eyes darting back and forth. What was that? An attack? Was something coming their way? Should he sound the alarm? The sound came again and he realized it was coming from the galley. 

So it must be Sanji. 

The human who had called him Emergency Food Supply and had tried to cook him… 

But he didn’t mean it right? 

Right? 

And even if he did mean it, Luffy wouldn’t let him…

Right? _Right?_

Chopper plants his back to the mast and slides around it to the hatch of the men’s cabin. If he’s careful he can go down without being seen. From here he can see the galley door is open and pale light is streaming out. There is another clatter and an interesting sugary smell that makes his tongue water. 

Is it… candy? Chopper taps his hooves together thoughtfully, then decides. Sanji is nakama after all so he probably won’t cook him and if he tries Chopper can probably outrun him and hide behind Lu— no wait… maybe Usopp? Or Zoro? Vivi? Maybe Nami, she was pretty scary when she got mad and _everyone_ listened to her. 

Escape route in mind, he takes a few stiff legged steps galleyward, then plucks up his courage and goes fast, running up to the open door, and peering through it, wanting to hide but needing to see. Wheezing slightly. Sanji is laying out some thin metal sheets and dusting them with fine powder. He has a cigarette clamped between his lips, unlit, and his sleeves rolled up and he was humming—but low so Chopper doesn’t think anyone was meant to hear. 

“You’re hiding the wrong way,” Sanji says. 

“O-oh.” Right, it’s butt behind, not in front. Chopper shifts around and then jolts in shock, realizing he’d been seen. Part of him wants to panic but he clamps that part down. Sanji is nakama. That means that they are crewmates and friends and friends don’t eat other friends even if they are really hungry. 

He hopes. 

“Hungry?” Sanji asks. Chopper shakes his head and watches Sanji set a large blue mixing bowl on the counter. 

“Want to help out?” Sanji asks, setting out three glass jars with something that looks like colorful sand, but when he opens them the wonderful sugar smell fills the air. 

“Okay…” Chopper moves away from the door and edges into the room, waiting for any sudden movements but Sanji seems to be preoccupied with getting ingredients. Anyway, it’s all very interesting. Chopper kneels on the bench so he can rest his hooves on the table and peer at everything laid out. Flour. Eggs. Sugar. Colorful sugar. Bags with nozzles on the end. Sanji’s back is turned as he does something in the fridge and Chopper tentatively pokes a bag. A glob of frosting falls on the table. Chopper swipps it up with his hooftip and pops it into his mouth. 

“Delicious!” 

“Hey now, you’re supposed to sample the batter before the frosting, shitty tanunki,” Sanji says, but he sounds amused. Chopper isn’t. 

“Reindeer!” He doesn’t even look like a raccoon-dog! Sanji just chuckles and cracks some eggs over a bowl. Chopper watches, interested in how good he is at it. He likes the way Sanji’s hands move and the brisk efficiency of his fingers. 

“What are you making?” Chopper asks. 

“Solstice Cookies,” Sanji says with a grin. “Want to help?” Oh. He didn’t know Sanji knew about those. Chopper sits on the bench, tapping his hooves absently against the table.

“Um…I don’t know if I can.” 

The cook’s grin fades a little. 

“Bad memories?” 

“No…” Chopper hardly has any memories of them. He knows what Solstice Cookies are. He’s seen them and smelled them cooling in windows… and sometimes when he goes into town with Doctorine he can hear the people chatting about them or watching the kids eat them from decorated boxes. It’s a special thing all over Drum but… “It never came up.” He swings his legs back and forth a bit. 

“Here,” Sanji says. “Watch.” 

He places a bowl in front of Chopper and Chopper stands, excited to help and learn something new. Sanji shows him how to crack the eggs and add the ingredients and when to sprinkle flour and when to stir and how much. He’s not as quick as Sanji and the cook already has a batch in the oven before Chopper is even really ready to put any out on the sheet, but that doesn’t seem to matter. Sanji shows him how to put the dough onto the spoon and lay the rounds out on the sheet. 

“Think you could make two more batches?” Sanji says. “I need to start breakfast before Captain shitty Big Mouth wakes up.” 

“No problem!” Chopper says, then happily goes about his business. He focuses really hard on getting the first cookie tray in even and spaced out rows, because cooking, like medicine, requires precision. Even though he’s never really seen cookies being baked before, he knows they’ll expand in the heat and so they have to be far enough apart so they won’t run into each other. 

That done, he goes back to the mixing bowl, repeating the steps with a little less care because he has a great muscle memory for this kind of thing, and a brain memory, too! He watches Sanji wash and then start to cut up some fruit with sure swift strokes that make a fun tapping noise against the cutting board. 

“Do you have Solstice Cookies on your island?” Chopper asks. 

“Not that I recall,” Sanji says, beginning to dice some bananas. “Then again I haven’t been there in a long damn time. More than ten years.” He drops the fruit into a bowl and then begins carving out a coconut, leaning his hips against the counter as he watches Chopper. “Why do you ask?” 

“I want to know what other islands are like!” Chopper says. “And…” But he stops himself, because saying it out loud just seems a little… dumb. He’s supposed to be a tough pirate now and be brave and strong. 

“And what?” Sanji asks. Chopper ducks his head. He really doesn’t want to say but… but… He begins to dole out cookie dough on the sheet and says. 

“I was just wondering if you missed it.” 

“Homesick already, huh?” Sanji says. 

“No!” Chopper said, looking up at him, then seeing the man smiling felt a little easier and added self consciously: “A little… But I don’t want to go back or anything and I really like it here.” 

“Well as for the first,” Sanji says lighting a cigarette. “Stick with this shitty crew and I’m sure you’ll see every island at least twice. And being homesick?” He shrugs. “There are moments I miss the shitheads on the Baratie, sure. And if you miss home--” Chopper ducks his head again, feeling his cheeks singe. “That’s shitty okay, too. Everyone feels how they feel.”

“I only miss it a little, “Chopper says, feeling a bit better by it all. Even lighthearted. “And I’m glad I came! It’s been really great with you guys so far!” And if he hadn’t come he wouldn’t have gotten to go to the party and do the chopstick up the nose thing or see the Doctor’s cherry petal snow falling all around. He feels good. 

Confident even! 

So he asks: 

“I’m not really emergency food supply am I?” 

“Yep,” Sanji says with a serious face.

“ _What?!_ ” 

“So you better pray we don’t run out,” he says, pointing the cigarette at Chopper with a grin. 

“That’s not funny, you jerk! You can’t eat me! I won’t be digested!” 

“Hahaha” Luffy’s laugh comes from the doorway. “Is Sanji trying to cook you again?” 

With a roar, Chopper flings himself at Luffy, trying to show his anger at this situation and how tough he is by biting his shoulder to see how _he_ liked the thought of being eaten! But Luffy doesn’t seem to feel it and his shoulder is like warm rubber under Chopper’s teeth. That doesn’t stop him from trying though. 

“Of course I’m not going to cook reindeer for breakfast,” Sanji says. “Do I look like a shitty barbarian?” 

“Oooh cookies!” Luffy says, zooming closer to the table. 

“You keep your shitty hands out of the batter or I’ll bounce you out on your ass. You can have an apple if you’re hungry.” 

“They’re Solstice Cookies!” Chopper explains. “And you can’t eat them because I’m still making them!” 

“I’ll eat a little,” Luffy says, hand snaking toward the bowl. 

“No way!” Chopper roars. Then turns into heavy point and sits on him, grabbing his noodly arm and stuffing it underneath his butt to keep it from out of the way. Sanji gives him a thumbs up. 

“Shitty nice work.” 

Chopper snorts. 

“I’ll protect my cookies.” 

“Not faiiir,” Luffy whines, wriggling like a worm. “The batter’s the best part.”

“Eh? Is it?” 

“No it isn’t,” Sanji says. 

“Yes it is,” Usopp says, coming into the doorway. “Don’t listen to the eyebrow he has no music in his soul. Ooh cookies.” 

“Don’t come into the shitty galley half dressed!” Sanji says, waving a spoon. “What if one of the ladies woke up and saw you like that?” 

“I’m not half dressed! I have a shirt and pants on.” 

“You slept in them.” 

“Luffy sleeps in his clothes all the time.” 

“They’re comfy that way,” Luffy says, voice muffled. But then it occurs to Chopper. 

“I’m not wearing a shirt,” he says, looking down at his furry chest. 

“You’re hereby banned from the galley forever,” Usopp says making a grand gesture. 

“ _What?_ ” How is he going to eat?!!

“You’re not shitty banned,” Sanji says, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Just sit down and try not to make a mess of things.”   
“Can do,” Usopp says, sitting next to them. He licks his lips at the bowl of cookie batter and wiggles his fingers, reaching for the bowl. Chopper grabs his wrist. He likes Usopp but he will protect his batter. Usopp gives him a narrow eyed look. 

“I don’t think you want to get between a man and his cookie batter.” 

“I think I do,” Chopper says, not flinching from his stare. 

“I WANT BATTER!” Luffy roars and suddenly he’s rising and Chopper is rising and his foot catches the underside of the table as he goes flailing backwards, taking Usopp with him. He watches as if in slow motion the bowl go up and then spin and then flip over and land solidly, bowl down, on Sanji’s head. 

There is perfect silence for a moment. Not even the eggs on the pan dare to sizzle. A glob of batter slides down Sanji’s chin and plops to the floor. Usopp gets up and puts a hand on Luffy’s shoulder. 

“Luffy, you’re a terrible captain,” Usopp says. 

“What? why?”

“Good captains wouldn’t batter their cooks.” 

Chopper laughs. Usopp laughs. Luffy laughs. They roll around on the galley floor, laughing so hard Chopper is sure one of them is going to choke. 

And then faster than he even knows what really happened, they’re lying in a heap on the deck outside, bruised all over and Chopper really wishing he’d gone into guard point. 

“Why’d he kick all of us,” Chopper whines, trying to extricate himself from the middle of the Luffy/Usopp sandwich. 

“His cruelty knows no bounds,” Usopp says. 

Luffy sits up, sending Usopp tumbling off and Chopper manages to sit upright in his lap, feeling dazed as he adjusts his hat. 

“Let’s go wake up Zoro,” Luffy says. 

“From one sleeping dragon to another, I see,” Usopp says. “I’m game! Just let me put on some socks first. It’s freezing out here.” 

“Forget socks! We’re going to tickle dragons!” Luffy says, clambering up the mast.

“Yeah! Tickle dragons! Let’s tickle all of them!” Chopper says, trying to come up after him but mostly sliding back. Then he tries to imitate Luffy and worms his way up one inch at a time. 

“I’m not going to forget socks! I’m cold, you idiot! And you should be, too! Just wait a darned second.”

“Okay okay,” Luffy says, pouting and resting his cheek against the mast. Chopper manages to get up to eye level with him, proud of having climbed up even that far. Luffy puffs out his cheeks at him. Chopper puffs out his cheeks back. Then Luffy grins wickedly. 

“We should tickle Usopp next.” 

“Yeah!” It sounds like a great idea and Chopper pumps the air with his hooves only to start to tip backward off the mast. Luffy catches him and smooshes him back on again and Chopper giggles against the wood as he hears Usopp emerge. This is going to be a great morning.


	17. Pray for Happiness and More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been two years and a few months since Luffy and the others left Alabasta, and the country is going strong. Vivi is proud of her country and content with her place, but misses those who have gone on ahead. Some friends are difficult to let go of.

Vivi held out her arms patiently as Terracotta arranged the folds of her dress and tightened it here and there. It was a gorgeous dress, rich with symbolism and tradition and expense. Too much expense, really. Vivi didn’t know the exact price of the soft shimmering fabric or the somber jewels around her neck and wrists and flashing in her hair— but knew they were priceless beyond measure. The people needed to see it, so went the common wisdom. It did a people good to know that their land was still steeped in wealth and tradition. To see a princess beautiful, yet tasteful, stunning, yet refined, in jewels passed down for generations. Vivi tried not to think about how many hungry it could feed and attempted to think princesslike. 

“You’ve dropped two more pounds,” Terracotta said, clicking her tongue. “You should take it easy this month of all months.”   
“I’m fine, Terracotta-san,” Vivi said with a smile. “Don’t worry.” And she was. She was barely even hungry despite the traditional fasting and the fact that she’d started two wells on the outskirts of Albarna. She had enjoyed the work. Enjoyed the heat and the smiling faces of the people who had cheered when she broke ground. She hadn’t even dug very far, just the traditional seven spadefuls and then stepped back to let the workmen in. She would have done more but had the feeling that no one would let her. 

“So you say,” Terracotta said gently. And then with a smile. “You’re more like your mother every day.” 

Vivi couldn’t help but flush at that and feel faintly pleased, but she wasn’t entirely sure if that was true. She’d always felt like a pale reflection of Mother. Just a daughter struggling to keep up with a legacy so expansive, it was a wonder that Mother was even still human by the end of it. She had been warm and kind they said. Generous to a fault. Graceful and elegant. Refined and courteous. Always beautiful. Vivi wondered if she’d ever climbed a tree or spit over a wall or knocked a boy down for getting her mad. 

“There you are,” Terracotta said, standing. “You’re absolutely stunning.” She turned Vivi around so Viv could see herself in the mirror. It surprised her a little. She looked different. Older somehow. Thinner. Not entirely like herself. She liked it but at the same time… at the same time… 

But Teracotta was looking at her expectantly and Vivi let a smile lift her face, leaning back slightly against the older woman. 

“It’s all because of you,” Vivi said. “Thank you.” 

“Nonsense. I just dress you up now and again.” 

“No, I mean it.” Vivi turned and gripped Teracotta’s strong hands. “Thank you so much. For everything.” 

The woman squeezed Vivi’s hands, her eyes glinting wet. 

“Thank _you_ , Princess.” Another squeeze. “Now I must go. I’ll see you at the feast.” 

“Yes, of course.”

Vivi turned to watch herself, if only to give Terracotta time to leave and go down the hall without it becoming awkward. There was a tap tap tapping at her door and Vivi opened it. Karoo greeted her with a raised wing. He’d been dressed for the occasion, too. His saddle swinging with blue and silver tassels. 

“Oh, Karoo.” She took his bill in her hands and planted a kiss on the top of it. “You look fabulous.” 

“Kweeeh,” the duck said, blushing and rubbing the back of his head. Vivi smiled and walked with him down the hall. She listened to the click of his feet against the tile and felt a little better, a little more centered. What would she ever do without him? As she came closer to Father’s room, she put a hand on Karoo’s neck for stability. Chaka was standing guard outside it. He was dressed for the feast, but he didn’t look very happy. A faint smile came across his face as he spotted Vivi, but it didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Princess,” he said, opening the door. Vivi took a second to brace herself and went inside. Father was ill again. He had been on and off all month and he’d seemed to be getting stronger but now—well maybe he needed rest. He was certainly sleeping now, though propped up on pillows—apparently having dozed off sitting up. Igaram sat by his bedside, watching him concerned, holding a half eaten bowl of stew. 

He turned as Vivi came closer, startled and then smiled and rose, setting the bowl to the side.

“Vivi-sama. You look more like your mother every year.” He opened his arms. 

“Thank you,” Vivi said, stepping into his embrace. He hugged her gently as if she was made of spun glass—and then stepped back, smile fading a little. 

“I’ve decided not to go to the feast and keep his Majesty company.” 

“Of course.” Vivi sat on the edge of the bed and took her father’s hand, gently so as not to wake him. 

“I’m sure he’ll recover,” Igaram said gently, resuming his seat.

“I’m sure, too,” Vivi murmured. No matter what happened she would be sure of it. Even if it looked bleak. Even if it looked impossible. Even when she felt she was drowning. She would believe in the impossible hope with everything she had and keep the sunlight in her heart. Father shifted as if he was waking, but just slid down into a deeper sleep,head listing to the side. With Igaram at her side, they tucked him in, settling him to fully laying down. 

“Thank you, Igaram,” she said when they were done. “Take good care of him.”

“Of course, Vivi-sama.” He bowed. “Enjoy the feast.” 

She would try. No. She would. She owed that much to the people who had provided it for her. Who had come to celebrate the continued good fortune of their country. She cast one last glance at Father and left the room, thanking Chaka as he opened the door for her again. He would not go to the feast either, she knew. But she wasn’t worried. Terracotta would make sure they were taken care of. 

Karoo resumed his pace beside her as she took an alternate, if longer route, going through the anterior wall where windows opened up to the night outside. Vivi stopped at the best view, resting her hands on the brick and looking out over Albarna. Night had fallen finally and was lit with stars and a shining moon was starting to rise, casting everything in white. Lights shining in the windows and from the star shaped lanterns that criss-crossed from rooftop to rooftop. She smiled fondly at the sight. Would she ever get tired of it, she wondered? 

She raised her eyes even further to the star cast horizon, whishing she could see the sea, wishing she could smell it, feel the wind in her hair. Something tapped her arm and she looked down to see Karoo holding the book in his bill that he must have gotten out of his satchel. Vivi smiled and took it.

“You want to look?” 

“Kweh.” 

On this night of all nights they should look, she agreed. And remember. Resting the book on the windowsill she opened it and immediately smiled, though tears pricked her eyes at the same time. Luffy grinned back at her, his wanted poster—old wanted poster, ragged around the edges. The face she remembered most and dearest. The voice she remembered. The strength. The determination that had blazed in his dark eyes. 

The next page, Nami, beautiful as ever. Looking over her shoulder and seemed to be flirting with whomever was taking the picture. Vivi couldn’t imagine how that had come about. Surely Nami wasn’t happy with the bounty poster. She’d said as much in one of her coded letters, rarer now than they were before and all the more precious for it. 

The next, Bushido-san, looking as serious and dependable as ever. She couldn’t remember him as anything other now, though she knew he had been. They all had been something other than anyone could expect. Wonderful, brilliant, idiotic, annoying, brave, reckless, cowardly. They were a beautiful mess of a pirate crew. 

Vivi smiled to herself and turned the page once more. Usopp…listed as Sogeking. She had yet to find the story behind that. And Chopper, listed as “Pet”, with only 50 Beri to his name. The poor thing. Next page. Sanji. Vivi had to stop herself from pressing her fingers to her mouth in a laugh for that one, remembering her makeup. Poor poor Sanji. That was certainly not the most flattering side of him but it seemed to be accurate of his inner spirit anyway.

Then the other two strange people they had collected who seemed to fit in by their looks alone. She couldn’t quite get used to the fact that the one called Brook was apparently a skeleton now. Or, rather, that was how they found him. 

She turned the page and her fingers rested there for a moment, feeling the familiar tangle of emotions even now as she saw Nico Robin. Nami had never explained why and Vivi trusted Luffy perhaps more than she trusted just about anyone. He must have had his reasons for …allowing? Asking? Her to join. Still it had taken Vivi quite some time to include her in with the others. It felt petty to leave her out somehow, despite the very real threat her actions had posed to Alabasta. 

Finally she had if only for Luffy’s sake— and the fact that she’d seemed to have integrated with them well. Vivi couldn’t help but be a little jealous… a little replaced… It was silly, of course. She had not chosen to come with them and that was it. However Nico Robin had happened to join it wasn’t because they didn’t want Vivi anymore. It was just…it could have been her on the Wanted posters instead. 

Could have been. 

But wasn’t. 

And Alabasta was all the better for it. 

At least she hoped so. 

Vivi hurriedly turned the page and flipped through the various news clippings and reports as she tracked her friends’ progress through the Grand Line. Pausing once more at the tragedy surrounding Ace. It always hurt seeing Luffy standing there. Alone. Defeated. To know how much pain he was in. How much he had lost and could never return to. 

For two agonizing years after, there had been nothing. Nami had written to her once during that time, not telling her much but to trust in Luffy and that everything would be alright. It had been the hardest wait Vivi had ever had to go through. And then…he ‘d returned. Vivi turned to the last page, which showed them returned back onto the world scene, older, stronger, startling. All their faces familiar and strange at the same time… Luffy with the scar across his chest. He had grown up, or at least there seemed to be a harder edge to his face. She touched the picture absently with her fingertips.

They seemed so much further from her now. Their lives had pretty solidly diverged. Though she still believed she would meet them again one day— she wondered if they would ever be the same as they were. Vivi closed her eyes and tried to recall the image once more. That day with cannonballs roaring through the air and splashing into the sea. But there they stood, their backs to the railing, their fists raised in the air, in solidarity with her. They were friends. Nakama. Forever. Never forgotten. 

_My friends…_

“Are those your friends?” 

The sudden voice startled her and she nearly knocked the book out the window. She caught it just in time, snapping it shut and turned, heart in her throat. There was Kohza, looming in the shadows of the hall. He came forward a bit, light glinting off his glasses, his expression flat an unreadable as it always was and she wanted to knock him on his ass for frighting her like that. 

“Yes,” she said, tucking the precious book back into Karoo’s saddle bag. She wasn’t worried about him knowing. He was one of the few outside of the palace that did. Of course he would due to Toto-san, but Vivi had to tell him of it herself. It was too important part of their history to leave it to guesswork, but that hadn’t been the most comfortable of conversations. 

“That’s dangerous.” 

“Not so dangerous.” In any case, even if it was a little, she would still look at her friends when her heart lead her to it. But she didn’t want to start this off with an argument. It was the night of the feast. It should be a night of healing and relief. So she folded her hands in front of her and smiled. 

“You came up after all.” 

“The old man insisted,” Kohza said. 

“I see…” Well of course he had and Vivi had to thank Toto-san, but at the same time, a part of her wished that Kohza had come up from his own free will—just to see her. A part of her, she supposed, was still looking for the Leader she knew and loved. But the more years that passed by, the more she realized that Leader had remained in the past and childhood nostalgia. Their lives had diverged, too. And though she still knew Kohza and could see parts of the kid he used to be in him, parts she respected no less, and parts that annoyed her, he wasn’t—and would never be— what he used to. On the other hand, neither was she. 

“There’s still a lot of work to do in Yuba,” he said as if he was trying to explain himself to her. 

“Of course, I understand,” she replied. He didn’t need to explain, really. She understood. They both had duties to attend to and neither owed the other anything. There was awkward quiet. She waited patiently as she cast about for something to say— though perhaps she should just remind him that they both had a feast to go to. 

“How are they?” he asked suddenly. She blinked. 

“My friends?” 

He nodded awkwardly. 

“Alright I suppose.” She reached up to tuck a strand of hair over her ear before stopping herself. Teracotta had spent a while on the elaborate style that was not to be ruined by nervous gestures. “I haven’t heard from them in a while.” 

“You must miss them.” 

“Mm.” She rested against the wall, looking outside once more. The moon had risen fully now, a beautiful crescent. Were they looking on that same moon and singing under the stars? Sleeping? Fighting? Being together like happy sardines, too close and never close enough. 

“Do you regret not going with them?” he asked. She had to consider that for a moment. It wasn’t an easy question. Regret was such a loaded word. She regretted it sometimes, but only faintly and never enough that she’d want to do anything about it or remonstrated herself. It was a regret tinged with a faint wistfulness of things that could never be. Could never be because she decided it would be so. Decided what was more important and where she was most needed and…yes what she most wanted. She reached up and touched the jewels at her throat. Looked down once more into Albarna where there was singing in the streets. The torchlight progression had started for the palace and soon there would be feasting and merriment with healthy happy people who had recovered from the drought that had sucked their country dry. 

“I’m glad I stayed,” Vivi said. After a moment, Kohza said quietly: 

“I am, too.” 

Vivi glanced at him, surprise stinging through her. He wasn’t looking at her but staring out at the city. 

“Alabasta needs you,” he said.

Oh… Well…of course. She wasn’t sure if it needed her more than it needed her father to be healthy. But she was there and that was enough. She rested her hands on the brick once more and looked at the city. The desert beyond. The sea of stars. Kozha came to stand beside her, mimicking her pose, the edge of his larger hand touching hers. It was the faintest of touches, but it felt hot, pressing against her like midday heat and filling her mind with yellow sun. 

“And I would have missed you,” he said, though he sounded strained as if that was hard for him to admit. 

“I would have missed you, too,” she said with a fond smile, resiting the urge to pinch him in the arm for being so gruff about such simple things. He looked at her, a small smile curving his mouth. He looked handsome in the moonlight. She watched him, then turned, moving away from the window and down the hall. 

“Come to the feast with me,” she said, as imperiously as he could muster. Then she turned and looked at him over her shoulder, sticking out her tongue. “Please, Leader?” 

He made a soft noise she could almost mistake for a laugh and came to her side. 

“Yes, Princess.” His hand fitted hot against hers. “As you wish.”


	18. A Voice As Big As the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snow is one of the things Shirahoshi has never experienced, but she's eager to see what she can do with it, especially with Luffy by her side.

Shirahoshi had never seen snow before and wasn’t sure what to make of it. She rested her arms on the bank of the cliff, careful to keep the scarf that Keimi had made her out of Luffy’s path. Below, the surf churned around her tail and the familiar feel of salt water comforted her as goosebumps rose on her shoulders from the cold air. The snow was cold, too, she’d discovered, and the sky was gray and the wind was cold. Still the land was interesting, and even more interesting was Luffy himself, rolling up balls of snow to make snow men he said. 

Shirahoshi rested her cheek against her arms and watched him fondly. He’d grown up a little since they’d last met, she’d heard, but it was kind of hard to tell since he still looked as small as ever. But his Pirate King coat made him seem a little bigger, catching and flapping in the breeze, the strawhat and crossbones on the back. She guessed he looked a little older in the face and had stripes of beard on his chin. Even for all that, he hadn’t changed much. Shirahoshi couldn’t help but smile as he stood back and observed his handiwork, chewing on the piece of meat he had with him, his cheek bulging at the side. It always reminded her of a blowfish. 

“So cute,” she said, pressing his cheek with a finger. He spit some out in surprise and then whirled on her in an angry shout. 

“Oi!”   
But Shirahoshi couldn’t help but giggle, holding up a hand in apology while the other covered her mouth. 

“I’m sorry! Luffy-sama is adorable.” 

“It’s not adorable to lose my meat,” he grumbled. He did love his meat. What a strange human she was. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, putting a hand up sideways in apology but she was smiling. “I’ll make sure you have a big feast later, okay?” 

“Shishishi Okay!” 

He turned back to his creation, then sat on her lowered arm, folding one leg over the other as he contemplated it. 

“It looks good,” he said finally. It looked cute, she supposed. She’d never seen a snowman before so she couldn’t tell if it was good or not and it wasn’t at all like what Usopp was working on not too far away. But it was made by Luffy, so if you asked her, she’d say it was perfect. She rested her chin on her other arm so she was (more or less) at his level. 

“It’s wonderful.” 

“Thanks!” he grinned. “You want to make one?” 

“Oh!” It hadn’t occurred to her to try. “Okay…” Then she smiled. “Yes, let’s! How do I start?” 

“First you gotta get a snow ball going,” he said, hopping off her arm. She nodded, pushing her hair over her shoulder to keep it away and looked at the thin layer of snow on the ground, focusing as she pinched it between her fingers and tried to get a ball. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t help but get a lot of mud with it, too. 

Mud. 

She wasn’t really fond of it, she found out. It was different from sand and she wasn’t happy with how it smeared over her fingers. But she just washed her fingers in the sea and tried again. More muddy balls. It didn’t look as pure and white as Luffy’s and it frustrated her, but she sucked in a breath and told herself not to cry about it because she wasn’t Weakihoshi anymore, just Frustratedhoshi. 

“I don’t like my snowmen, Luffy-sama,” she murmured. 

“Hmm. You don’t have enough snow I guess. Wait here.” 

Of course she would. She watched him leave, coat flapping behind him as he called for Nami and Franky. Shirahoshi rested her chin on the heels of her hands as she waited. It was sort of lonely without him and she was considering seeing what Megalo was up to but Luffy did say to stay there and she didn’t want to miss him. Instead she puffed out a breath and scooted down the cliff just a little so she could see Usopp better. He seemed to be working on some kind of mermaid snowman relaxing on a snowman with flexing muscles and a long nose. She wanted to help but wasn’t sure if a poke would send it crumbling back into powder. Snow had less strength than rubber.

She was just about to ask if she could help, though when— when something strange started to happen. A thick grey cloud rolled over the area, much lower than the other clouds. It got darker and greyer and Shirahoshi almost flinched back from it, wondering what it would do—if it would explode or something else terrible. But Luffy told her to wait and so she waited. Even if it was right over her head. It spread far and fast and she could see in the distance the flame orange hair of Nami who was pointing at it and blue balls coming from the end of her staff. 

She lowered her staff and then… snow!

Snow coming down from the clouds! Thick and fast. Shirahoshi blinked and held up her hands, catching the snow in her palms and watching it melt. She didn’t know snow came from clouds! She thought it just sprung up from the ground! How wonderful! How beautiful! Even if it made her shoulders cold and her nose run.

“This is amazing!” she told Luffy as he came back, though it was sort of hard to see him in the shifting curtains of snow. “Does it always do this on land?” 

“Yeah sometimes! It depends on where it is,” Luffy said. “But we gotta wait ‘til it gets deep enough.” 

He was holding a steaming cup of something, which Shirahoshi quickly decided was hot cocoa as Sanji whirlwinded toward her, presenting her with a her sized cup that steamed pleasantly in the air. She thanked him with a smile and sipped the delicious drink, watching the snow piling up, flicking her tail happily in the water. She soon saw why Luffy had called Franky, watching with some interest as …was it…the tank something? Pushed snow toward her into even deeper piles. It got so deep Luffy was up to his waist and then his chest. Shirahoshi was worried about him being buried and offered him a hand which he climbed on, melting snow onto her palm. 

After some time the snow stopped and she looked at the frozen expanse feeling intimidated somehow. There was so much to work with and she wasn’t entirely sure where to begin. 

“Luffy-sama… Could you…help?” 

“Yeah no problem! But you gotta do it yourself.” 

“Mm!” She nodded, pushing her hair back again. He reached up and she felt his tiny fingers on her ear before he was standing on her shoulder. 

“Yosh! Roll up the balls!” 

“Okay!” she said, saluting. It was much easier this time to work with and she could get handfuls of it, with no mud clinging to the white. As she worked, Luffy gave her directions or exclaimed about stuff in her ear. He was loud. Almost too loud. But she liked it. She was so used to everyone sounding so far away, but up close like this warmed her and made her cheeks pink despite the cold. 

Well it did warm her but by the time she was finished she was cold all over, her hands shaking a little and her fingers numb as she patted the last bit in. The others of Luffy’s fantastic wonderful amazing crew had gathered around and made their own snowmen, surrounding hers so it wouldn’t be alone. 

“Shirahoshi-chwaaan!” said a large carrot wiggling just below that sounded like Sanji. He must be holding it, she supposed, because there were hearts floating out from either side.  
“Woo! That’s a big carrot!” Luffy said.

“Thank you?” Shirahoshi said, and picked up, noticing it was actually a bunch of the carrots, tied together. Sanji wiggled at her happily and she offered him a bewildered smile. 

“You stick it in its face,” Luffy said. “It’s a nose.” 

“Oh!” 

She stuck it in but the minute she let it go it listed. 

“Oh no.” 

“Don’t worry. Hold it up for me,” Luffy said. Shirahoshi did watching him run along the length of it, and then he helped up Usopp and Chopper who went around plugging in more snow around the nose to make it stay in place with buckets provided by the others down below. Shirahoshi took a deep icy breath and let it out, trying to keep her eyes from misting over. Not crying was difficult to do.But she was just so happy. They were all bright and vibrant against the snow and she was glad to be here no matter how cold it was. 

Finally she was able to let go and Luffy came back onto her shoulder as she shifted back to look at her wonderful snowman, perfectly white, that she’d made with her own hands and a little help from the people she loved. 

“It looks like Usopp-sama,” she said. From below there was an indignant:

“Oi!” 

And everyone laughed.


	19. You Can Count on Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The problem with Portgas is... well Thatch doesn't know his problem, not really. That doesn't change the fact that they are brothers, even if Portgas isn't able to admit it (or even stop trying to off their father). The least Thatch can do is to make sure he's entertained for the holidays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in [Remedy-verse.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1136454)

Thatch hummed along with “I Saw Three Ships” as he combed back Freddy Albatross’ hair, sliding his conditioner slick fingers through the fine brown strands as she smoked a cigar and read Cosmo. Business was jumping at Pops’ Cut’n’Curl as brothers of all stripes got ready for The Whitebeard Gang Christmas Extravaganza Festival of Lights and Too Many Damn Words which was set to kick into high gear next week. 

He hadn’t been to this particular salon since he first joined. It was good to get his hands dirty again, so to speak and it did him good to see the place packed with subordinates from across the divisions. Quite a few from seventh, and one or two from first. There was even a cluster of poor second divisions, huddled in a corner with a fifteenth and swapping cigarettes and tales of derring do. He was most proud of Freddy who was from the eighth where hair was a low priority, which drove Thatch crazy considering all the salt water damage they got by being in the sea all the time. 

The bells jangled and Thatch looked up absently to see one of the newer kids, newly tucked under Fossa’s wing, pick an empty seat and ask nervously for a hair cut while the true object of his attention sat across the way getting a head massage. 

Pops. With Marco in bird form on his shoulder to freak out the newbies and also because he was paranoid as shit after two recent assassination attempts. Part of the reason why Thatch was here, too. He thought of his swords tucked under a pile of towels nearby. And various other commanders littered inconspicuously up and down the street just in case. Of course Pops could protect himself, naturally he could. But why should he have to when surrounded by his sons? 

“Going to put you under, Fred,” Thatch said, turning on the water in the sink. “Want an ashtray?” 

“Nah,” she said, folding up the magazine. “You can have the rest if you want.” 

“Much obliged.” He held the cigar between his lips and then guided her down to the water, washing out the conditioner and massaging her scalp with sure fingers. It was a way to get her to come back and maybe tell the rest of her division before Thatch and the rest of the fourth had to come after them armed with fishing nets and shampoo bottles. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the rookie carefully approach Pops and greet him with a tremulous smile, then offer Marco a cracker with a shaking hand. It was a horrible rookie mistake and Thatch had to suprress a chuckle at the offended look on the first division commander’s birdy face. Finally though he heaved a sigh, all ruffled feathers and took the cracker, munching it with difficulty between his beak. 

‘ _Good Polly_ ’ Thatch whistled at him, having to be more forceful than usual to be heard above the music and dull noise. Marco gave him a look, flipped his tail and pointed a claw in his direction that needed no translation whatever. Shut the hell up, yoi, it said. He would, if only because Freddy Albatross was done. He turned off the water and wrapped it around her short hair, easing her upright with a hand on the small of her back. 

“There you are. Howell will take care of you just over there,” he said, gesturing to one of his own fourth who was a buzzcut art master. Freddy thanked him gruffly and trod on over. Sink free, Thatch crooked his finger at the newbie who came over, still a bundle of nerves, and sat in the chair. 

“Hey…er…hello…uh…sir….” 

“Relax,” Thatch said, fingering his shoulder length hair to get a feel of its texture. “What do you call yourself, kid?” 

“C-Cadogan.”

“Where do you hail from?” 

Hmm, fine and thready. Greasy at the moment, and brittle, but judging from his face he looked a little malnourished. Nice color, too. Brown but would wash up to a deep mahogany. 

“R-Rockford, Illinois.” 

“Like it down there?” Thatch said absently, guiding his head down and wetting his hair gently. He kept half an ear on the kid’s stammering explanations of his opinions of his hometown. Everyone had a story and Thatch made sure at least he got the most important parts. With sixteen hundred brothers to look after you couldn’t know everything about everyone… 

There was the rattling purr of a motorcycle coming down the street and Thatch looked up idly as it came to a stop beside the curb, heaped with dirty snow. The rider was helmeted and it wasn’t a bike he knew. Thatch put out th cigar and whistled a note for Marco’s attention, wondering if the phoenix recognized it. Marco lifted his head, cocking it to the side as if to see better and then tensed and relaxed, but not because of familiarity, just not wanting anyone to see him sweat.

Thatch dried off his hands and casually stepped back to the shelf where his swords were hidden. The driver was a lanky fellow, full of energy and he pulled something up he’d strapped to the side of the bike. An ax. Thatch’s fingers rested on the towels as he sweated. What kind of person used a freaking ax anymore. The bells above the door jangled wildly as the person strode in, whipping off his helmet and throwing it on the floor. 

Ah. Just Portgas. Bastard cost him a cigar. Well half of one. 

“Hey that’s—” Cadogan said, starting up. 

“Nothing to worry about, lad,” Thatch said, easing him back down. “Now, just relax.” He ran a cloth under warm water and put it over Cadogan’s eyes before squirting some shampoo into his hands and foaming it through the man’s hair. He watched as Portgas, wearing the leather jacket with his symbol blazing defiantly, charge at Pops hefting the ax with a scream. Marco preened his feathers. Pops opened one eye, caught the ax with his enormous fingers and said in his deep, grumbling voice: 

“Hey, hey, you could get someone hurt.” 

“ _Don’t talk down to me, bastard!_ ” Portgas howled, fire licking over his arms. Pops flicked him away like an ant, sending him crashing through the window and back out onto the street beyond. Thatch flinched as the kid hit his motorcycle and sent them both skidding into the snow covered street. 

“I-is everything alright?” Cadogan asked. 

“Just fine,” Thatch said, despite the gust of bitter wind. Thatch looked around for a free fourth division member and spotted Marely, peering outside with a startled look on his face. Thatch caught his attention and then gestured him over with a jerk of his head. 

“Marley’s going to take care of you. You like dogs, kid?” 

“Y-yeah I-I guess so.” 

“Good, ask him about them.” 

Thatch dried off his hands, put on his jacket, stole Marco’s pack of cigarettes and went outside. The sun was just starting to set blazing the sky with red and orange and there was the smell of snow and exhaust in the air. Going to whip up a storm tonight. 

Portgas was on his hands and knees in a pile of glittering glass shards, getting to his feet, flames licking over his lacerated wounds. It was a uncanny sight. He knew the kid was some kind of Devil’s Seed byproduct, they had enough in the Whitebeards, but he’d never seen something this intense aside from Marco’s own strange transformation. Still the key was not to show any surprise, so Thatch didn’t, just carefully picked up the bike. 

The kid’s head shot up and he glowered at him with dark eyes, his hair hanging in his face. Thatch just smiled and put up the kickstand before letting the bike rest again, admiring it. 

“Nice little Honda you got,” Thatch said. “It’s a PC800 right? Didn’t think it came in anything other than red.” This one had obviously been detailed into lurid orange with the Spade Pirate Gang’s symbol detailed on the side. A lot of pride this kid had. 

“Shut up,” Portgas said, looking around, probably for the ax that rested several feet away. “I don’t want to hear that from you.” 

Thatch shrugged and lit a cigarette, watching Portgas spot the ax and go over to it. His eyes widened as he saw a chunk of glass sticking out of the kid’s shoulder—and then couldn’t help but laugh in shock and amusement as the kid plucked it out and tossed it away like it was no big deal. Rookies these days. Hardcore or too reckless to live, Thatch hadn’t decided. He watched Portgas pick up the ax and then curse as the shaft snapped in half, the heavy metal head clanging to the asphalt. 

“Tough luck,” Thatch said.

“I said shut up!” Portgas snapped, his eyes blazing. Thatch held up his hands because he really didn’t want to fight the kid, but if he was going to go back in there with a shop full of brothers… Well Thatch wasn’t going to fight him. Pops had latched onto this kid somehow as he did all of them. When he spoke of him it was with fondness and everyone knew it. So Port— Ace was a brother, too, even if he didn’t know it yet. Younger brothers were always like that. Brats to the core. 

And he had to feel sorry for him, too. All of his former gang members were…well…fairly integrated into the Whitebeards by now. Oh they weren’t with any division yet, but they were doing their best to stand by a captain who seemed to have a fanatical bent to destroy Pops or die trying. Not a good prospect for the future if the other happened and if the first—? Fairly impossible, even if they posed a united attack. But from all he’d heard Ace had repeatedly tried to shove them back or break them up, anything to keep them safe… and it was a testament to their love and loyalty for him that they hung around in the only capacity they could. 

But at the same time, it had to be pretty damn lonely for this kid. Thatch tucked his hands in his pockets and watched as Ace burned the wood off the broken section of the ax head, and then tried to weld it onto the new one. His hand was a blaze of light, flickering over his hard face. Thatch supposed he didn’t even burn, but there was no denying the heat that Thatch could feel even from here.

It was enough heat, in fact, to light the haft on fire, too and Thatch tried not to smile in sympathy as it the whole thing went to cinders. Ace cursed again as the ax head fell once more to the road, clenching his still flaming hand into a fist. Thatch wondered if he would try to use that next. Pops could defend himself and Marco was there to be a backup, but fire and salons were a dangerous combination. Thatch knew he couldn’t tell Ace to stop but… 

“I don’t know what’s driving you.” What was really driving him anyway. That was none of Thatch’s business. He added gently as he could. “But it’s the holidays, mate.”  
Ace looked at him startled with an expression that stabbed Thatch right through the chest. He looked so ungarded. Just like the kid that he was and less like the hard edged punk. Bastard, he thought with a grin, grinding on the now dead cigarette. What gave him the right to look at anyone like that? 

The kid lowered his head and the fire flickered and died, the oncoming twilight seeming even darker for it. Ace looked to the salon and then ran a shaky hand through his hair. He took a deep breath and let it out. 

“Fine,” he muttered, going toward his bike and nudging the kickstand up. It was like his entire demeanor had changed. His shoulders slumped. Thatch felt relieved and terrible at the same time. It was the holidays— but maybe this punk had nowhere to go. No one to hang out with. Nothing to do. It made for horrible holidays even if you didn’t celebrate. Thatch thought a moment and then got in front of the bike just as Ace slipped a key in the ignition. 

“Hey, Portgas, I’ve got a proposition for you,” Thatch said. Ace looked up at him, eyes dangerous once more, ready for a fight. Thatch felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise and knew that whatever charitable holiday spirit Ace had dredged up in himself was rapidly being burnt through. Man, helping out was kind of dangerous. 

“I’m not one of you,” Ace said. “Don’t forget I’m your enemy.” 

“Of course,” Thatch said. “And you want Pops’ head, I understand. But listen, there’s this asshole out there who wants Pops’ head more, and he’ll be sneaky trying to get it. So what say you and I take him out together?” 

Ace raised his head and, shorter though he was sitting on the bike, managed to look down at Thatch anyway, his eyes glittering and dangerous. 

“Why you?” 

“I know how to track him down.” Thatch stepped back onto the curb, hands in his pockets. “Of course, you know, you could take the chance of someone taking out Pops before you can try.” The words alone stung in his throat because like ever loving blazing fuck they would let that happen. But he didn’t want to take that risk, and it would be easier taking the assassin out before he could have the opportunity to even get a close shot. Besides which, Portgas along did the double duty of a hell of a surprise, and Thatch could keep his somewhat dangerous company on the loneliest time of the year. 

“Okay...” Portgas said after a long moment where Thatch was sure he’d be roasted in his own skin. “But get in my way and I won’t hesitate to kill you.” 

“Noted.” Though what he really wanted to say was to not call the kid so cocky. Fire brat or not, Thatch wasn’t some weak kneed wanna-be. He didn’t get to be fourth division commander because Pops liked his hair… Though it probably didn’t hurt. 

“Wait there,” Thatch said. He went back into the salon, nodding at his brothers who were boarding up the windows or sweeping up the glass. They watched him with wide eyes and he knew that many of them, especially in his own division, had long noses and big ears. 

“Commander Thatch!” Marley said, but Thatch waved a hand, cutting him off, telling him under no uncertain terms to back off. Normally he’d let them speak as they liked but there was a certain person who’d be pissed at him if too much got into the open air. Pops was watching him, too, a thoughtful look on his face. Marco was glaring at him. As hard as a phoenix could. And Thatch knew he would be kicked in the head at the end of it all. 

“Don’t wait up for me, Pops,” Thatch said, belting on his swords and retrieving his helmet. He met his Captains’ eyes, asking for approval. He wouldn’t make a move without that. No matter what he promised. After a moment Pops nodded and Thatch swept Ace’s helmet off the floor too, then paused to put Marco’s cigarettes back in his coat pocket.

“You’d better come back, yoi,” Marco said, voice cold as ice. 

“That bird turned into a guy!” Cadogan squawked. Thatch looked at Marco without meeting his eyes. 

“Don’t worry, mate. I’ll be home for Christmas.” Maybe. Probably. He winked and blew a kiss and then headed out the door, feeling everyone’s gazes needling into his back. He tossed Ace his helmet and the young man caught it with a graceful ease that Thatch wanted to kick him for. 

“My bike’s just over there.” He jerked his thumb at the garage across the street. “Meet you at the corner of Mulberry?” 

“Got it,” Ace said, pulling the helmet over his head. Thatch went to the garage under the uncertain stare of Jozu who was guarding the place and had likely seen the whole thing. Thatch patted Jozu’s belly for good luck then tied back his pompadour before getting astride his bike and pulling the helmet on. This might very well kill him and he knew it. But at least if he did, he would die well.


	20. Make My Wish Come True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barty doesn't want a lot for Christmas, except to maybe give the straw hatted idol of his life a simple gift. But does he have the cajones to do it? Or will he need a little help from the friendly neighborhood Cabbage?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in the middle of [Step into Christmas with Me](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2705831/chapters/6161849) so, consequently [Remedyverse](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1136454)

Bartolomeo stood in the alcove in the student union, just behind the large concrete pillar of Steins Bagels (now closed for the holidays) and peered out into the open plaza, shivering convulsively from cold and excitement. The tiny bell tied to package decorated with snowmen jing-jing-jangled in time with his trembling hands and he bit his lower lip as another burst of emotion thrilled up through him. Happiness, anticipation, anxiety, dread. 

Fact of the matter was he’d been waiting for this moment for four long years, after he’d first seen …seen… him on the platform on D.C., grinning widely at the crowd as lightning cracked the air around him. Fact of the matter was he’d built himself up in circuits, from zero to mid-level champion and even going for the elite arenas in a chance to take him on or shake his hand or touch the back of his shirt or sit in a seat still warmed by his butt. 

Barty hadn’t heard he’d dropped out of the circuit until too late. He’d mourned then, figuring his chance was gone forever since this place had a tendency to swallow people up. He was miserable. Inconsolable. His gang nearly left and would have had they not been driven by the same need to stay together in one form or another. He’d left them behind for the holiday, those lovely bastards, for the one chance he felt like he’d waited for a lifetime. He’d found his idol out, found his schedule, even stalked him a few times, peered at the back of his head during classroom until the glee overtook him and he had to make a mad dash to the janitor’s closet to breathe into a paper bag. 

But no hyperventilating this time! He thought this with defiance. The cardboard bending slightly under his thumbs. He cursed and relaxed his grip and waited. The plaza was empty. He wasn’t worried. He expected it. Instead he cast an eye to the clock on the end of a wrought iron pole in the center of the plaza. In ten minutes, his idol’s exam would be over. Then he would make a beeline for that cafeteria there. And there Barty would be there to meet him. Offering his small but, he hoped, well thought out gift. And his idol would look at him all warm eyed, the air dancing with his presence and say: 

_“Thank you, Barty.”_

“You idiot, he would know your name!” Barty said happily, pressing his hot cheeks against the cold brick. “Don’t imagine things like that or you’ll be a fucking mess!” 

“You are a fucking mess,” said a cultured British voice behind him that Barty wanted to take out and fist its owner with he’d heard it so damn much over the days. The vision of his idol popped like a soft cloud in his head and he growled at the owner of said voice over his shoulder. 

“Piss off, Cavendish,” Barty said, digging irritably in his nose with a finger. “Can’t you see when a guy is having a moment?” 

“I’d rather not see, honestly,” Cavendish said, pulling a face and fluffing the fur lined collar of his coat. “And you piss off. Don’t forget this is my dime.” 

“Yeah well I’m the one that did all the legwork so don’t you forget it,” Barty said, jerking a thumb at himself. “As far as I’m concerned, I paid my half.” 

“Hardly. We’ve been shacked up in that bloody hotel room for three months and I haven’t seen a hair of him.” 

“That’s because you’ve been running around taking fucking photo-ops, you pissy poofter.” Barty spat on the ground. That and there were some sacred places Barty couldn’t take him. Not someone who didn’t see him as an idol but as a threat. Only a true fan would have access to those places. But a true fan that wouldn’t outshine Barty and who Barty would have to break the little fingers of should they dare reach for him. 

“I’ve told you before it’s not that I want to it’s a social _obligation_.” He flicked his blond hair over his shoulder and Barty was prepared to say he saw a few rose petals flutter from some goddamn where. “I can’t keep my public waiting and expect to continue to be in their eye a week later. They deserve more.” A rose slid out from his poffy damn sleeve and he graced it against the side of his pale narrow jaw. Barty felt a little ill. 

“ _He_ doesn’t need any photo ops,” Barty said just to get under Cavendish’s skin. The brit scowled, tearing off the top of the rose with his teeth. 

“That’s because he _cheats!_ ” Cavendish snarled, spitting wet rose petals onto the ground in his anger. “He’s become a mystery! Well I won’t let that happen! I’ll find the source of his power and take it from him! I’ve worked too damn hard to get so far to have my beloved fame be stolen by a scrawny brat who doesn’t even photograph well.” 

“Says you,” Barty muttered, touching his breast pocket reflexively. 

“Of course says me. And who better to say it?” Cavendish crammed the rest of the stem in his mouth and swallowed. “I’m tired of waiting in this miserable cold. I’m going to Starbucks. Want me to pick you up something?” 

“The usual,” Barty said, flapping his hand and going back to stalkin—waiting. Cavendish heaved a sigh. 

“I do know your usual. We’ve lived together entirely too long.” 

“You’re telling me. Stuffy poofter.” 

“Disgusting wanker,” Cavendish called over his shoulder, striding off. Barty rolled his eyes. The things that he put up with. But he was putting his mental well being if not his life on the line to see his idol so that should count for something right? 

There was someone coming toward the plaza. Barty straightened, and then slumped when he heard the tap of shoes. It was too quick and too solid to be his idol’s gait which was more ambling with the thwap thwap thwap of sandals against stone. Even though there were still lumps of snow around. It was just inspiring. Barty would do it, too, only sandals made him look like a dweeb. 

The person heading toward the cafeteria across the way soon came into view and Barty scowled at the lanky form of one lucky idiot named Law Falagar or something who had been able to _sit across_ from his idol on an English project and didn’t seem to appreciate it one damn bit. There were some strange people in this world. He obviously wasn’t a circuit brat and probably hadn’t lifted a finger to say dandy one day in his damn life. Barty lifted a finger, though, right under his chin at the asshole and then ducked out of sight, the present jingling against his chest. He wasn’t going to let even that guy ruin his day. 

Instead he focused on the gift. It wasn’t much. It was a fridge magnet shaped like a leg of meat and an assortment of gift cards to some steakhouses in the area. He didn’t know which one his idol liked and so he chose…well…almost all of them. It had nearly left him flat broke but he had to show just how much he felt about that guy! He couldn’t go on with life without showing that much appreciation.

And then…he heard it. The sound that could even make the stoutest hearts of the stoutest men quiver. Cold sweat ran down his face and into his collar. Thwap thwap thwap of straw against stone and even a little humming. Humming! Barty didn’t know the tune but it was so damned charming! 

But okay. Here was his chance. He just had to take it. _Come on, Barty. Take it. Just move your legs. **move your legs!** Okay the upper half of your body, can you manage that? Please manage that. You need to manage that._

The gift jingle-jangled in his hand and he slowly, s l o w l y moved his upper body around the concrete pillar. Finally his legs. And then with a sudden burst of brave movement, thrust out the box.

“L-L-LU!” 

But the plaza was empty. 

His idol was in the cafeteria already. All Barty could see of him was his large backpack and the top of his hat. He wheezed. Knees giving a little. Heart thundering a ragged tattoo in his chest. Fuck he didn’t think he could do it again. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and looked forlornly at the box. It wasn’t over, he told himself, flicking the bell with his fingernail to hear the faint jingle. All he had to do was catch his idol coming out of the cafeteria! It was that easy. That simple. He was never going to make it. He dinged the bell again. Who was he fooling? He might as well leave it in his idol’s mailbox for all the good it would do. 

He heard the clackity clack of Cavendish coming back and barely looked up as a hot coffee was thrust under his nose. 

“It’s as cold as a witches tit out here,” Cavendish said. “My face will crack if we aren’t careful.” 

“Mm.” Barty sipped the coffee but it didn’t make him feel much better at all. 

“What’s eating you?” Cavendish said. “Did the Monkey not show up?” 

“Yeah,” Barty said. “He went in there.” He pointed sadly toward the cafeteria. Cavendish looked up. 

“Right,” he said, and began striding away. In a panic, Barty grabbed the back of his coat hauled him back around to the safety behind the pillar. Cavendish flailed, knocking his hat askew and then straightened it with a blue eyed glower. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” the blond snapped. 

“Don’t go there he’ll see you, moron!” Barty hissed. 

“I want him to see me! That’s what I cam here for.” 

“But I’m not ready for him to see you!” Because that would mean… Barty should be the one to meet him first. He just had to get the gumption to do it. That was fucking all. 

“You’re out of your mind,” Cavendish said, trying to pry him away. “Get off me.” 

“Please,” Barty said. “If we’re friends at all…”

“We’re bloody well not,” Cavendish grumbled. Barty glanced up at him, then, eyes watering, lip trembling, not that he was going to fuckin’ cry or anything but he was pretty damn close. This was so important. Cavendish heaved a sigh. 

“ _Fine_. So what do you suggest we do?” 

“Wait,” Barty said, finally letting go and watch Cavendish brush out the wrinkles in his coat. Barty did the same with the feathers on his jacket and sniffed back some snot that had managed to leak out. 

“More waiting,” Cavendish said, sipping his coffee on which someone had doodled a rose on it. “Brilliant.” 

That frightening moment out of the way, Barty watched the cafeteria like a hawk. In his position he couldn’t even see his idol, so he watched the glass doors like a hawk, waiting for any sign of movement so he could pounce. As he waited, he planned. The moment his idol arrived, he would step from behind the pillar and present the box in a cool unassuming way like it was no big deal that this kid was the greatest thing he’d ever seen in the whole of his goddamned life. 

And then…

And then…

And then he shouldn’t think about it because already his nose was flaring from the pressure of the thought. How did people ever meet their idols in real life without exploding of joy? 

“There he is, finally,” Cavendish said. Barty looked up and wished he hadn’t because he saw him face on, through the glass, larger than life! He looked so much cooler in person! Those determined eyes! The hat! The sandals! The shorts! He’d seen him at a distance once or twice but everything seemed magnified. 

And he couldn’t move! He was a statue! A rock! He had to move! He would miss his chance if he couldn’t move but all his muscles and bones seemed to be locked in place! 

“What are you doing?” Cavendish hissed. “Get a move on!” 

He would if he could but! 

But! 

Cavendish grunted and Barty felt a boot against his ass before he was stumbling out from behind the pillar and right into the path of his one true idol who was shorter than him but no less wonderful. His idol pulled back, blinking and then after a moment, raised a hand. 

“Yo.” 

Ahhh! He was speaking to him! _To him!_

Barty’s knees shook. He bit his lower lip. Tears sprang in his eyes. And then It occurred to him. 

_He. Could. Speak. Back._

“Y- y-y-y-” Or not. His idol blinked again and laughed. 

“You’re kind of a weird guy,” his idol said and Barty made a squeaky sound he didn’t even know he was capable of.

“Oh for the love of,” Cavendish said, stepping beside Barty. “Monkey, this is Barty. A fan of yours.” 

“Eh? Really?” 

“Yes, really,” Cavendish said. “Give him the gift, Barty.” 

Yes. Barty would. 

Well wanted to.

Really did. 

But couldn’t seem to pry his fingers away from the box. Cavendish sighed again, snatched the box from Barty’s hands and gave it to his idol. 

“Merry Christmas, I’m sure he would say. And maybe please have my babies.” 

If Barty could move he’d kick him in the shin. His idol took the box and shook it and then grinned. 

“I don’t want babies but thanks!” 

“Now,” Cavendish said. “You and me…” But was interrupted by a series of chimes. His idol’s eyes widened.

“Crap I’m going to be late! See you Barfy and fan! Thanks!” he said calling over his shoulder and waving the box. He came close to his name! And maybe closer than he’d thought because Barty felt he wanted to barf now that is idol was quickly running out of sight. 

“I’m not your fan!” Cavendish called after him, annoyed. “By all accounts you should be mine!” 

No. He was going to be King of the World one day! Everyone should be his fan! And he had almost known Barty’s name and had taken Barty’s gift and _knew he existed_. He crouched where he was, putting his hands to his burning face. Ahh it felt like he was going to catch on fire! 

“I’m a man now,” he heard himself whispering in a voice close to awe. 

“You’re a bloody mess is what you are,” Cavendish said. “Listen Chicken head. I’ll give you today, but sometime before the week is out you’re going to arrange a surprise meeting between me and him so I can figure out how he ticks. Capisce?” 

Barty nodded. On this frabjous day, he would agree to just about anything! And it would give him a chance to be in the same building with his idol and maybe even sit a few tables down or… gasp! At a half blocked diagonal. 

As for where, well, that was easy. He stood and cleared his throat but couldn’t help the radiant grin from lifting his face as he told Cavendish. 

“I know a few steak houses we can try.”


	21. Child of Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, Franky seems to get away with everything, just because he's young and new. Iceberg isn't about to let him ruin this holiday. It isn't Iceberg's tradition, but it's important to Tom-san and that's all that matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connected loosely to: [A Miracle to Light the Night](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2705831/chapters/6152150)

There was work to be done, and of course Franky was sitting out on the beach, just beside his newest disaster, looking out onto the curling sea. Iceberg gritted his teeth and gathered the piles of wood that had been the detritus of today’s work to stack them _neatly_ somewhere. A concept which Franky only seemed to have the barest concept of, unless it involved his own projects of course. 

“Franky! It’s almost sundown!” he called. The kid’s shoulders hunched and he didn’t move Iceberg clicked his tongue and tried to fight the growing annoyance that knotted in his throat. He wanted to be as generous as Tom-san was. Tom-san was a good Fishman and a part of Iceberg knew that if he could even be half the man he was, he’d be well on his way to the kind of person he wanted to be. But how could anyone be anything but annoyed at that kid? He was surly. He barely worked except on his own projects. He just sat there and took up space. 

Iceberg shook his head and set the wood in a careful pile. Tom-san was standing nearby, large strong arms folded across his chest and looking at the blue haired kid across the way with an indulgent smile. Another thing Iceberg didn’t get. Not only did Tom-san tolerate Franky, but actually _indulged_ him. Iceberg had never been indulged half that much. He’d spent nearly every day _working_ and _earning his keep_. Which was just how it should be. 

“I don’t know why you put up with it,” Iceberg muttered, pulling off his thick gloves. He wanted to ask Tom-san what he saw in the kid, but that just seemed— too— too unprofessional or something. The Fishman chuckled in his sandpapery voice. 

“He’s a good kid.” 

What part? Iceberg wanted to ask, but bit his tongue on it. Someone between the two of the Tom’s “workers” had to be the mature one and it might as well be him because it certainly wasn’t going to be Franky. 

“I’ll finish cleaning up here if you want to go ahead,” Iceberg said. It was, after all, almost sundown, and Iceberg was considerate as well as responsible. He tried not to shoot another glare at the solitary figure of Franky as he thought these things and instead started to pick things up. Tom-san rested a large hand on his head. 

“Thank you,” he said, his smile fond. Tom-san didn’t say anything more before heading back to the house, but Iceberg didn’t need anymore. He always felt stronger somehow when doing things for Tom-san. Even if they weren’t difficult. Iceberg worked at his task happily enough, especially if he turned his back to keep that lone figure out of sight. 

He was done in no time and when he straightened and turned around, the sun had nearly set below the glittering sea, blasting the sky with blue and red and orange. And there was that kid. Who hadn’t moved for the whole time. For a moment, Iceberg considered leaving him to his own devices. 

But then he knew what he had to do. 

Straightening his shoulders, Iceberg marched across the scrapyard and crouched by Franky’s side. The kid was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest and his head resting against them, arms blocking the view of his face. 

“Listen,” he said, seeing the kid’s shoulders stiffen. “Tonight is a very important night for Tom-san and Kokoro-san. So try not to mess it up. Okay?” 

Silence. 

“Did you hear me?” 

Franky didn’t even twitch. Iceberg bit back a sigh. Why was he so damn stubborn? 

“I know you’re awake, Bakanky.” He gave Franky’s shoulder a shove. Franky looked up at him, looking pissed off like he usually did. Though this time his eyes looked kind of red.

“ _You_ don’t mess it up,” Franky said, sucking back snot into his nose. Any trace of compassion fled and Iceberg gritted his teeth, pulling at Franky’s cheek. 

“What did you say?” he growled. 

“I said _you_ don’t mess it up, Bakaberg! By being an idiot!” Franky small pinchy fingers grabbed at Iceberg’s cheek and pulled. Far more painfully than he was doing to Franky. 

“I’m not the idiot! You are!” Iceberg snapped, pulling back, harder this time. 

“Am not! Ow!” 

“Are so!” He didn’t say ow but he felt it. Stupid brat.

“Am not!” 

“It’s time boys! Gyna gyna gyna” Kokoro-san’s voice rang across the scrap yard. Iceberg scowled and stood, grabbing Franky by the back of his stupid shirt and hauling him upright.

“Come on, dork.” 

“I can walk!” Franky snapped, slapping at his hands. “Leggo!” 

Iceberg let go, rubbing at his stinging hands and glaring at the kid who glared back. No. Screw this. He wasn’t going to be pulled to that level. He was the employee here, not some hardscrabble kid who Tom-san took pity on. He ignored Franky to the fullest, only pushing him back a little when the kid shoved into him. Kokoro-san smiled at them and shook her head before disappearing from the doorway.

Iceberg smiled as he entered the house and looked onto a familiar sight. The table laid with traditional food. The small candelabra that he and Tom-san had made…the first thing they had made together, with Tom-san showing him how to work with the bits of scrap iron they’d found and turn it into something new. Something beautiful. Iceberg gently knocked away one of Yokozuna’s webbed hands from stealing one of the fried potato balls resting on the plate, still steaming in the darkening air, but wasn’t in time to stop Franky from doing the same thing.

He scowled, then decided to ignore it. Tom-san smiled at them both, coming to the room and filling it with his presence. He held three white candles in his large hand, just the size for the candelabra. Iceberg watched with solemn, but building anticipation as Tom-san set the candles in their holders. 

“This is a tradition…” Tom-san said, mostly for Franky’s benefit Iceberg supposed. “Passed down through Fish and Merpeople for generations. No matter where we are, no matter what we’re doing, we try to come back to it in some way.” 

Iceberg glanced at Franky to gauge his reaction. 

Of which there was none. 

Typical. 

“Traditionally we use jellyfish but it’s a little hard for them up here.” Tom-san chuckled. “So candles will have to do.” 

Kokoro-san struck a match, lighting the taper which she handed to Tom-san. Iceberg smiled a little, forgetting Franky and everything to do with him. He always liked this tradition and was grateful to be included in it, even if he always felt somewhat on the outside. There was something ancient about it, beautiful, something of a time and place he didn’t even understand. 

Tom-san began to sing, his voice low and gravelly in his chest. It wasn’t a good voice, but right now Iceberg couldn’t help but think it was the best one. 

“ _To our ancestors who came long ago,_  
Those who made our home with their hands,  
From the great ones to names we do not know  
Thanks to you, the people still stand.” 

And as he reached the end of the verse, he lit the candle. Usually they were quiet after this, so when Tom-san spoke, it startled Iceberg a little. 

“This time we remember names and stories, legends…fairy tales. Anything you can think of.” 

Speaking for Franky’s benefit then. Franky was chewing on something again and said nothing, did nothing, just watched the flickering candle. Iceberg tried not to be annoyed. Tom-san didn’t even seem to notice he was being ignored, or maybe was too nice to bring it up. Instead he let the silence fall and Iceberg scrambled to think up the stories he’d heard about the founding of Water 7 and the myths surrounding certain places but he could hear Franky’s chewing now and it irritated him to no end. 

After the moment had passed, Tom-san handed the taper to Kokoro-san, who sang, in a voice no more really pleasant than Tom-san’s. 

“ _To those who have left us in the near past,_  
The people we admired, and those who held us tender  
Though your faces and voices did not last  
In our hearts, you’ll always be remembered.” 

“I remember my grandmother,” Tom-san said into the silence. “She was a good woman.  
“My father was, too…” Kokoro-san said with her usual grating laugh, softer now in memory. Iceberg blinked. He’d never heard them speak of either before. Why were they doing so now? Should he speak of his? Franky said nothing, as before, and grabbed another potato ball out of the dwindling pile. If he ate all of them before— 

Iceberg shook himself out of the annoyance. No. He needed to be in the proper mindset for this. Kokoro-san lit the taper once more and started to hand it to him. Tom-san held up a hand. 

“Do you want to try, Franky?” 

“I don’t care about dead people,” Franky said, folding his arms. “Why should I light a candle for ‘em?” 

“ _Franky!_ ” Iceberg hissed. Quiet or not that was his business, but this was still rude. To his surprise, Tom-san chuckled. Iceberg’s ears burned. How could he take this so casually. 

“I suppose there’s some candles people can’t light,” he said, stroking his mustache. Iceberg tried not to glower at Tom-san and instead focused his ire on the floor. How is it that Franky got away with _everything_?

“Iceberg?” Kokoro-san said, gesturing with the taper. Iceberg swallowed back his annoyance and sang the remembered verse as he had done for three years now. 

_”To those who have just left our arms_  
Whenever we think of you, we feel downtrodden.  
Though one day we must, and will, let you go  
You’ll never be forgotten.” 

He lit the third candle, feeling defiant and even a little triumphant as Franky just folded his arms and looked sour. Well he had no right to. Iceberg closed his eyes and tried to think of those who’d left him when the floorboards squeaked. Tom-san was heading out of the room. 

Iceberg blinked. What? 

He was answered when the Fishman came back with a fourth candle. Iceberg narrowed his eyes and repressed a sigh. 

Of course. 

“There’s one more verse,” Tom-san said. Which surprised Iceberg. He’d never heard it. 

“I’ll hold the candle,” the Tom-san continued. “And you can decide whether or not to light it.” 

“’K,” Franky said, looking expectantly at Iceberg who realized he was still holding the taper. Iceberg reluctantly handed it over. 

Tom-san shared a look with Kokoro-san, then cleared his throat and began to sing once more. 

_”To our children who live in sea and land,_  
Though your times may be filled with sorrow  
Keep your head up, smile when you can  
And live always for the hope of tomorrow.” 

Franky stared, holding onto the taper. For a moment, Iceberg thought that he wouldn’t do anything. But then he ran his free arm under his nose and reached out, lighting the taper. Kokoro-san got a candle holder they kept for emergencies, a new one made of brass and Tom-san set it in the holder, next to the candelabra. It stood out, but in the way new planking stood against old. Both were still serviceable one one had a gloss, a shine and gleamed more importantly in the light. 

“Now!” Tom-san said, clapping his hands together: “We eat!”

|_|_| |

It took a long time for Iceberg to get to sleep that night. He tossed and turned under his blanket, uncomfortable feelings squirming just under his breastbone. He couldn’t help but feel angry at the injustice of it all. Franky laughing after like he was happy he’d gotten his way despite everything. Up to and including being rude to Tom-san who had never been anything but kind to him. And he rarely did any worked and he was just a pest but somehow none of that seemed to matter. It wasn’t that Iceberg was jealous… but even if he had been he knew he’d be well justified in it! Hadn’t he been here twice as long? Worked twice as hard? It just wasn’t fair.

He threw back the blankets in irritation and got up, shooting a glare at the lump that was Franky. He was highly tempted to give him a nudge with his toe when a faint swirl of sea air told him the door was open. Curious, Iceberg followed it. 

The door was cracked open and he peeked through to see the bulk of Tom-san sitting on a piece of driftwood, pale yellow in the moonlight. Iceberg shut the door quietly behind him and went to join his mentor on the driftwood, absently picking a shell from the sand. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” Tom-san asked. Iceberg thought of complaining, then changed his mind. He was better than that. Maturer. Whining was for babies. 

“Want to tell me about it?” Tom-san said. Iceberg sighed and chucked the seashell away, trying to catch the foaming sea as it slid onto the sand. 

“Just the usual,” he said. “Franky being a” shit “brat.”

“He is that sometimes” Tom-san said with a deep chuckle. If he agreed than why was he laughing? Iceberg didn’t get it and he was sick and tired of not understanding.

“Why does he always get his own way?” Iceberg said finally, trying not to sound as exasperated as he felt. 

“You’re talking about this evening,” Tom-san said. It wasn’t really a question and it wasn’t really _all_ that Iceberg meant, but it was the most annoying example at the moment. 

“I thought it was tradition,” Iceberg muttered. “And he can just…mess with that…” He shook his head. 

“Well tradition…” Tom-san wiggled his hand back and forth in the way that meant it was uncertain, then put that hand, warm and huge, on Iceberg’s shoulder. “Traditions change and they should change with a don!” He chuckled to himself. “Because they’re there to help people get through to another year, not hold them back.” 

“I don’t see what about that would hold Franky back.” Honoring people who’d gone before you was a tradition even humans held. He was sure Franky had someone to miss. Tom-san was quiet for a long moment.

“Some people take strength from the past,” the Fishman finally murmured, squeezing Iceberg’s shoulder. “But for others…Something about the past has hurt them so deeply that the only thing that gives them joy… or peace… is to look forward. To move forward.” 

“He doesn’t have to be rude about it,” Iceberg muttered, even though he felt somewhat mollified. 

“Maybe he’s just that kind of kid,” Tom-san said, sounding faintly amused. Iceberg considered this as he looked at the ripples of moonlight over the water. 

“Maybe he’ll grow out of it.” 

“Could be.” Tom-san scratched his chin. “Though maybe you’ll learn to accept him just as he is.” 

Iceberg snorted. Even if he would do something like that, it wouldn’t be anytime soon. Franky was still a kid so he could have _some_ allowances, Iceberg guessed, but he wasn’t going to go as easy on him as Tom-san did. 

Still… if Franky grew up or didn’t, there was no denying he’d be here for a while. Iceberg leaned back on his hands and looked at the stars. 

“I guess we should add another holder to the candelabra,” Iceberg said. Tom-san smiled. 

“I guess we should.”


	22. And In Case You Didn't Hear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A direct sequel to [Yo Ho the Mistletoe](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2705831/chapters/6070481) It wasn't enough just to kiss, Zoro wants so much more from Sanji and Sanji is feeling the itch, too. But where do you go when your ship is full of busybodies and long noses?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit ZoSan. Probably MA

Zoro pulled back from the kiss, licking his lower lip at the taste of Sanji still on them. He didn’t really know shit about this holiday, but hell if he couldn’t get into it. Food was good, decorations were like looking into a bomb of color and too much stringy stuff, but mistletoe? Yeah he liked that. Sanji was looking at him, his eye soft, his mouth open showing a hint of teeth in just that way Zoro liked. It never ceased to fire him up. He traced Sanji’s jaw with his thumb, the lower softness of his lip, happy to see the cook’s eye close a little more. 

“Sanji…” he murmured, knowing that the use of his name would make the cook jolt, though Zoro was never sure why. He didn’t know why it worked, just that it did. That blue eye went wide and his face singed red. Too damned cute. 

“Zoro…” Sanji murmured. “You…” And then his eye narrowed as Zoro slid a hand down the small of his back and grabbed a handful of that perfect ass. Zoro leaned down and murmured in his soft ear. 

“Let’s fuck.” 

He wasn’t entirely surprised to find a foot in his chest, but was a little shocked at the ferocity of it sent him thudding against the wall, not crashing because he was almost prepared for it after all. 

“Don’t use my name just so you can get laid, you shitty insufferable prick,” Sanji said, obviously flustered as he tried to light a cigarette. Heh. Point for him. Zoro grinned, pushing himself away from the wall. 

“Nah, I just do it because you like it,” Zoro said, coming closer. Sanji looked at him mid-click, his face so red it was practically glowing brighter than the lights in the weird tree everyone had decided to set up. It was a good look for him. Zoro reached out and took Sanji’s cigarette to lower it before murmuring against his lips: 

“I don’t need to use anything to get laid.” 

“Don’t be so cocky, shitty marimo,” Sanji murmured back, shifting closer. Zoro could feel his breath, taste it if he opened his mouth just a little. He wanted to set his hands on the cook’s lean hips and drag him closer. That would be breaking, though, and he wasn’t prepared to do that. Still… 

“Prove me wrong,” Zoro said, pressing in a fraction more to brush their lips together, just that much, just to give him a taste and get one. Sanji’s mouth opened a little more and his hand came up. _Yes_ Zoro thought in a breath. 

A clatter outside and Luffy’s wild laugh and Sanji pulled back suddenly, stiff as a rail, and planted a foot against Zoro’s chest again, pushing him back a little lighter this time.   
“Proving you wrong starting now,” Sanji said, casting a glance at the door before lighting his cigarette. “Hands to yourself, shitty swordsman. I’ve got things to do.” But he obviously didn’t mean it because his cheeks were flushed and he kept meeting Zoro’s eyes and looking away. 

“Why?” Zoro said. He wasn’t pouting even if it might look like he was because people with the ambition to be world’s greatest swordsman didn’t do that kind of thing. It was more a hard disappointed frown. 

“Because they’re wired to shit,” Sanji said, jabbing a cigarette doorward. As if on cue he heard the dumbass trio of Luffy, Usopp and Chopper break into a loud song, accompanied by Brook. 

“So?” 

“So I don’t want a repeat of last time.” 

“…Oh.” 

He didn’t mind if people caught them kissing. That was to be damn well expected and if anyone had an issue they could suck it the hell up. But the other stuff… They had tried to be careful but Merry was small…and so well…a door had opened. That had been bad enough but kind of irritating for a while as Usopp had demanded to know what weird things did they think they were doing on Merry! And then Luffy had said it looks like they’re doing it. And then for the next few weeks they’d had to endure Luffy ask them if they were gonna do it and Usopp giving them the stink eye. 

But…

“This is the Sunny.” 

“I don’t care if it’s a shitty golden ark. Wait for them to go to bed,” Sanji said, turning back to the dishes.Yeah fine. That made sense. Wait until they went to bed. Except that they were pretty hyper because there had been a hell of a lot of sugar in what Sanji had been feeding them but— fine, Zoro could wait. He jammed his hands in his pockets and watched Sanji work, the way his body shifted and stretched as he put the dishes away, the cloth of his pants molding to his fine ass and making his legs seem even longer than they were… The way his shirt looked without a tie, gapping at the collar and he could see pale lines of flesh and blond hair. And a little red smudge. 

Zoro came a bit closer to see if it was what he thought it was and he had to grin. Yeah those were his teeth marks alright. His love mark. And Sanji hadn’t even noticed it. Zoro could give him more. Wanted to give him more. All over his body. Listen to Sanji hiss out curses as Zoro took him. He licked his lip.   
One kiss wouldn’t hurt would it?

Just one.

Not even on the mouth. 

He slipped forward, pressing their bodies flush together, his hand on Sanji’s flat stomach and kissed the back of his neck softly. Sanji made a low hissing sound and his smoother hand covered Zoro’s, his head rolling forward a little as he made a soft noise that went straight down to Zoro’s groin. Holy fuck he was going to die. 

Predictably the door burst open with a crash and Zoro jerked back.

“Yo! Sanji! More Eggnod!” Luffy bellowed, cheeks already pink from cold and rum.

“CAN’T YOU ASSHOLES KNOCK?!” Zoro roared without thinking about it. Luffy blinked at him. 

“No why?” 

“It’s eggnog,” Usopp said, squeezing in beside Luffy. “And yeah, why? It’s just the galley.” 

“They must be doing it,” Chopper said, squeezing between their legs. “Right? Right?”

Fuck his life. Zoro felt his face go red and saw out of the corner of his eye Sanji looking like was ready to break a dish in half. 

“Oh yeah,” Luffy knocked his fist against his palm. “They must be about to do it.” 

“Yeah it really looks like it, doesn’t it?” Usopp said. Then as one they swacked their hands to the side and said: 

“DON’T DO WEIRD THINGS!” And even though Usopp looked like the only one that really meant it, Zoro roared back. 

“YOU DON’T DO WEIRD THINGS!” 

“GET THE SHIT OUT OF MY GALLEY!” Sanji roared, and, the worst travesty of all, Zoro found himself booted out just well as the rest of them. That wasn’t damn fair. Couldn’t a man grope another man in freaking peace around here. Zoro camped himself right where he was, arms and legs folded as he scowled at the galley door and the wreath on the galley door and all the stupid decorations everywhere and no mistletoe he could use to bully his way in because Nami didn’t want it around for some damn reason and wouldn’t allow fools to be fools or him to have an excuse to taste Sanji’s tongue whenever he wanted. 

“Ah you don’t have to be grumpy, Zoro,” Luffy said, petting Zoro’s shoulder. “We didn’t mean it.” 

“Yeah we didn’t mean it,” Chopper said, patting Zoro’s other shoulder. “It was just playing around.” 

“I meant it!” Usopp said. “A ship’s soul is good and pure so don’t go sullying it with your wicked wiles.” 

“Usopp you’re the last person to be saying that,” Chopper said flatly. 

“Ch-Chopper!” 

“Yeah, right?” Luffy laughed. “I heard it too.” 

“Both you guys shut up! It wasn’t what it sounded like, I said!” 

Zoro closed his eyes. He didn’t want to know. He really didn’t. 

He heaved a sigh and dropped his head. 

Fuck. 

He was half hard, too. Not as much of a pain in the ass as full on hard but it was going to be damned annoying for a while. He trod over to his current favorite patch on the lawn deck, sat down, and tried to think of unsexy things like— like— hagfish or something. Not that he knew what hagfish looked like. But he was willing to bet it was a cross between Chopper’s annoying doctor lady and old lady Kokoro.

There was something about her now that he thought about it. What was it? Something erased from his memory it seemed like. A thud on the grass told him he had a visitor. He glanced up, grunting a greeting at Franky who sat on the railing, an ankle propped up on his knee. 

“Heard about your troubles,” Franky said, pushing his sunglasses up with a thumb. Yeah yeah, who hadn’t. “Fortunately,” the cyborg showed a large piece of paper with a flourish. “The Sunny is superrr equipped for everything.” 

“Yeah?” Zoro stared at the paper. There were a lot of lines and boxes and circles on it. One of these boxes was circled in red, another near by it crossed out in red. “You draw that?”   
“Did I draw— It’s a schematic, Roronoa,” Franky said, whapping the back of his hand against the paper.

“Schematic, huh?” he rubbed his chin. “I think I’ve heard of that style.” One time in a bar he’d had half an hour of someone drunkenly complaining at him that art wasn’t what it used to be and that people just doodled anything on a scrap of paper and called it ‘art’. Zoro kind of saw where he was coming from. It wasn’t really colored or anything. Franky sighed. 

“Look, okay? Pay attention. We are here.” He pointed to one part of the doodle. “Where you want to go is _heere_.” He circled the red part with his finger. “But not here.” He tapped the x. “I haven’t finished that part yet.” 

Zoro stared at it. Looked up at him. Raised his eyebrows. 

“It’s a map!” Franky exploded. “Of the ship. How did you even survive this long?!” 

“You could have just told me it was a damn map,” Zoro said defensively. “There aren’t even any dashes to tell you where to go.” 

“You want dashes? Fine!” Franky got a marker out of…somewhere…Zoro didn’t want to think too hard in where he was keeping it. 

“You are heere.” He circled a part at the top of the doodle. “You want to go this way.” And he made a series of dashes to where the circle and x were. “Got it?”   
“Sure.” Sort of. Not really. Not at all. 

“Don’t worry, it’s soundproofed and everything so you guys can go crazy,” he said, giving Zoro the thumbs up. What was soundproofed? What guys? What?   
And then he got it.

“Oh it’s a room!” he said, feeling the relief of the last puzzle piece clicking into place. Hey he’d figured it out! Or...at least he thought so. Franky was giving him an odd look. 

“What? It’s a room isn’t it?” 

“Yes,” Franky said in a tired voice. “It’s a room. And I’m going to get a drink.” 

The hell was with him? Well he didn’t know and he didn’t care. There was a room on this ship where he could fuck Sanji’s brains out and he was going to find it.

|@|@|@

“You’re really fucking amazing, you know that?” Sanji said. Zoro scowled as the cook trod behind him. “Here we are on a ship maybe only three times the size of Merry and you get yourself shitty lost.”

“I’m not lost!” Zoro snapped. He knew just where he was. In the hallway. It wasn’t his fault there weren’t any lines on the floor or circles or x’s on the door. 

“So where the hell are we going? I’m gonna wear a shitty hole in the deck if we pass over it one more time.” 

“I’m _looking_ ,” Zoro said. “And you’re the one who said that schematics show in real life what’s on the paper.” 

“They do.” 

“Do you see a dash anywhere?!” 

Sanji was quiet. Then pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Don’t tell me—” he said slowly. “That you spent all this time looking for a shitty line on the floor.” 

Zoro…had the sudden realization that maybe he was mistaken about something. He folded his arms and glowered at Sanji, daring him to say anything— because _because_   
“It was on the schematic,” he grumbled. Sanji looked at him. A small breath of a laugh left the cook and Zoro felt himself bristle, but at the same Sanji looked cute like that so he couldn’t be too mad. Something like a fond smile crossed Sanji’s face. 

“Just tell me what you’re looking for, shithead,” he said. But there was nothing mocking about his tone and Zoro felt a little better. 

“A room,” Zoro said. “I don’t know, Franky said it was soundproofed and we could go crazy in it.” He shrugged. Sanji looked at him a moment and then sighed.   
“What does everyone have to know our shitty business,” he muttered. Zoro wished it was different, too, but it did give them someplace to go, so he wasn’t about to complain too much. Zoro stepped to the side to let Sanji take the lead and as the cook brushed past him, Zoro had to clench his hands to keep from grabbing him. He smelled like clean clothes and soap and faintly some warm comfortable food smell like baking bread and cigarettes. He wanted to hold onto him, suck on his neck like a fucking orange slice, drive him crazy with want. 

Sanji trailed his elegant fingers idly along the wall and it was all Zoro could do not to take them in his mouth. Finally Sanji found a door and pushed it open. Inside was a small room, not much bigger then the pantry except with no shelves. Inside there was a padded bench and a single lantern. 

“Looks like the place,” Sanji said, turning and leaning on the door frame as he eyed Zoro up and down. “Now what?” he had such a bored tone that it almost pissed Zoro off but then Sanji smirked and slid his fingers over the edge of Zoro’s haramaki, his skin cool against Zoro’s bare stomach and made him suck in a breath. “Come here, you dumb lug,” Sanji said. 

Zoro was about to protest but he couldn’t help but follow the light but inexorable pull of the cook. He came into the room, caught by the look in Sanji’s face and the deep blue of his visible eye.

Zoro shut the door behind him and the moment it caught, Sanji’s arms were up around his neck and his elegant fingers were burrowing cool in Zoro’s hair. He made a faint sound at the touch as warmth spread through him and wasted no time in slanting his mouth against the cook’s sliding their tongues together and pressing his hands against the small of Sanji’s back, hiking him up against him. It wasn’t enough. With a grunt, Zoro tugged Sanji’s shirt free from his pants and slid a hand up his bare back, fingers trailing along his spine. Sanji’s fingers tightened and he made a pleasant noise against Zoro’s mouth. 

“Fuck that’s good,” Sanji breathed against his mouth pulling away. Damn right it was. Zoro didn’t talk because he was too busy kissing and biting along Sanji’s jaw, sucking at the skin there, wanting to taste every part of him. He ran his nails lightly over Sanji’s back and then tilted his head to the side so he could get at that neck. So long and pale and perfect. 

“Ahh! Hmmmm” Sanji’s fingers curled against his shoulder and there was a scraping sound as his shoe slid across the wood, a sure indicator that he was going to put that long, strong leg over Zoro’s hip, holding them tight and pressing them even closer in the way only Sanji could. But Sanji’s fingers only tightened again and he pressed the heels of his hands lightly against Zoro’s shoulders.

“Hold on,” Sanji said in that breathy voice that made Zoro want to do anything but. “Let’s get out of the shit.” 

Well when he put it that way....

Zoro slid out of his shirt and then moved forward again as Sanji started to unbutton his shirt, kissing and biting at his throat while he went for the man’s belt, unbuckling it with expert fingers. Sanji laughed softly and Zoro felt it, almost tasted it and it made his ears burn pleasantly. 

“It’s been too damn long,” Sanji said. “Let me unbotton, shithead!” 

Zoro grinned against his neck, but didn’t pull back and soon enough Sanji’s shirt was loose. Zoro slid his hands inside, gripping Sanji’s waist, sliding his hands up his core, over his ribs, moving his hands in to rub at the cook’s dusky nipples until they stood at attention for him. 

“Shit!” Sanji said. “You’re so damn handsy!” 

“You like it that way,” Zoro muttered, pushing at Sanji’s shoulder to get him to sit on the bench, knowing that there was no way he’d be able to manage it unless Sanji wanted to. Sanji sat and Zoro knelt gratefully between his legs, worshiping Sanji’s throat and neck and collarbone with his mouth while he slid his hands to the cook’s back again, massaging as he went. 

“You horny bastard,” Sanji muttered. “When are you going to take this shitty thing off?”

Zoro felt him tug at his haramaki and grinned. Not the only horny bastard around here. 

“When I want to,” Zoro said, raising his head and catching Sanji’s mouth again. Sanji grabbed his jaw with smooth but strong hands, kissing him feircly, biting Zoro’s lower lip which sent a jolt through him and otherwise letting him know that no matter what Zoro was doing, Sanji was still the one in charge. 

“It better be damned soon,” Sanji gasped when they broke apart. At this rate it would be sooner than he liked. It was getting hot and sweat stood out on his skin. Sanji’s too, he couldn’t help but notice and more of it. He flicked out his tongue and tasted it, hot and salty on Sanji’s skin and then went down, taking a heated nipple into his mouth feeling the resistance with his teeth. Sanji made a noise in his throat, legs tensing, pulling in, sliding out and his hands clawed in Zoro’s hair. He was already getting going. This was going to be fantastic. 

“Taste so damn good,” Zoro muttered, biting and kissing his way across Sanji’s chest and down, shifting to get better access, one hand resting on Sanji’s hips and restlessly rubbing it with his thumbs. His other hand, though, came around, sliding the button of Sanji’s pants free and unzipping it before running his fingers over Sanji’s boxer clad dick. Silk, too. Zoro chuffed a laugh and couldn’t help but be impressed. The silk must bet driving him goddamn crazy. Zoro didn’t even wear underwear for the most part and the cotton alone was bothering him—but not enough so that he couldn’t focus on what he was doing, not yet. He slipped a hand in and just slid his fingers along the heated flesh, rubbing the silk against it, too. Sanji made a noise and gripped his hair hard, curled his fingers against the side of Zoro’s neck. 

“Zoro,” Sanji choked out. “Shit, you—” 

“I what,” Zoro said lazily, rubbing more, softly, slowly, watching Sanji toss his head back to expose the line of his throat and then forward. He snarled, sweat dripping down the side of his face and then finally banged the floor with his heel. The reverberation was impressive but it didn’t even dent the Adam Wood. 

“Take it out, goddamnit!” Sanji finally hissed. Zoro was tempted to torment him a little more and did give into that temptation a little, dipping his head to run his tongue along silk and heat, but then Sanji made an annoyed noise and nearly ripped Zoro’s hair out with his grip and though Zoro was actually into pain in a sense, he didn’t want to go bald either.

“Impatient,” he chided teasingly. Sanji snorted at him and Zoro took him out. It was familiar by now, though he hadn’t seen it in a long time. Usually it was too dark. “Hello old friend,” he said. 

“Zoro don’t talk to my dick,” Sanji said. “Shit.” 

Zoro just chuckled and lathed the engorged head with his tongue just to hear Sanji make that noise again which he did, his fingers dropped to Zoro’s shoulders and he dug into the flesh there leaving tiny jolts of pain that wasn’t enough. Wasn’t nearly enough. Zoro watched Sanji’s face contentedly as he took the man in his mouth, tasting him, familiar and wonderful. It had been too long. His mouth had missed this. He took him all the way back and Sanji did that straining thing where his eyes squeezed shut and a vein stood out on his forehead before he finally sucked in a sharp breath. 

Zoro slid Sanji out enough to murmur. 

“It’s soundproofed, remember?”

“I know that!” Sanji snapped. “You think I’m holding back just because of that?” 

Yes, he did, but didn’t say so and couldn’t stop the grin of amusement as Sanji became a little louder as Zoro sucked at him, curled his tongue just under the head to where it was most sensitive. Sanji’s hands _clenched_. 

“Fuck. Motherfucker.” He glared at Zoro, breathing heavily. Then there was a movement as he toed off a shoe against the floor. Zoro wondered at it until that foot slid against his thigh. Oh shit. He shifted and closed his eyes, trying to focus, trying not to let it get to him, trying to get Sanji off before

Ahhh…. 

Fuck… 

Sanji’s foot brushed against his dick sending a thrill through him and he had to freeze so he wouldn’t accidentally choke. There was strength there he knew intellectually, but so much control, even when that heel that could dent iron slid down with enough heated pressure and then let him spring back up, against cloth that was too soft and not hot enough and fuck. 

“Asshole,” Zoro said, still intelligible though a little garbled. Sanji snickered and Zoro both loved and hated him for it. 

It quickly became a game, a contest of wills, to see who could outdo who. With his mouth Zoro had a definite advantage but Sanji could endure it so long as he was focused on something and that something was Zoro’s dick. And fingers in his earrings making them chime before caressing so lightly over his ear that he wanted to lean into it It was too damn soft but felt too good at the same time and he found himself morning without meaning to, especially as Sanji chose that time to press him down again, lightly, warm, rubbing, fuck. 

“Zoro,” Sanji murmured with such warmth that Zoro couldn’t help but look up. Sanji’s face was open and there was a genuine affectionate smile in his face. Zoro felt his face sting with heat and swallowed convulsively, making Sani’s gaze flicker slightly, mouth opening as if an incredible sensation. But then he smiled again. And then his smile grew _evil_. 

Zoro was a little afraid of it to be honest and then knew he should be as Sanji lifted a hand to his hair, trailing through it with just his fingertips, scratching lightly with his fingernails, then over Zoro’s skull and …oh shit. 

Sanji’s cool fingers rested against the back of his neck and already goosebumps slid over his skin. That was the part of him that sensed things. A warriors intuition of when a sword was hissing through the air to take his head. It…was sensitive and some people might even call it ticklish but when Sanji pinched that spot hard with his fingers and raked his nails over it it made Zoro jerk as his senses came alive at once, like a shot of cold adrenaline through his viens and making his dick twitch at the sensation and cloth and Sanji’s foot. Zoro nearly choked. 

He let Sanji out of his mouth and panted lightly, taking the hand from his neck but kissing it. Kissing those fingers and the palm and his wrist and then Sanji’s thigh and any part of him he could reach. Fuck. This man. This everything. He was probably in too deep but it felt too fucking good to be drowning. 

“Zoro,” Sanji murmured again and was smiling lighter this time, teasing. “Let’s fuck.”

|@|@|@

And they did. With a desperation that was unusual for them. It was hot and hard and slick as fuck and wonderful. Sanji wrapped those goddamn perfect legs around him and clawed at his hair and neck as Zoro slammed him hard against the wall, holding onto his hips and giving him another hickie to match the first, trying very hard not to die in the process as Sanji called his name until his voice was hoarse.

Then they rested and did it again, slower but building up to the same fevered pitch, this time from behind with Sanji alternately cursing him and sliding his nails along the walls so that Zoro felt faintly jealous. 

And then in the early hours of the morning Sanji woke him with light kisses to the shoulders and the back of the neck and Zoro turned around and let him have a turn in something warm and gentle and just rocking movements that felt too good and a different sensation that was too deep and dark and warm and nothing either of them wanted to admit. Sanji kissed him lightly when they were done and then Zoro wasn’t sure what exactly happened to Sanji after that because he passed out right back to sleep.

|@|@|@

By the time Zoro dragged himself on deck, it was mid-morning, he was pretty sure he’d missed breakfast, but he was ravenous. He was also tired and sore as fuck, though the good kind of sore and he could feel Sanji’s marks on him everywhere, and his weight and his taste lingered in Zoro’s mouth. Zoro thought of going to the galley but decided instead to stretch and take a nap by the railing, confident that Sanji would come and bring him something tasty along with it. Maybe he might even be able to grab the man’s tie and sneak in a kiss.

He wasn’t quite able to sleep yet so he folded his hands behind his head and watched his nakama, those that were out on deck anyway. Luffy, Chopper and Usopp were fishing. Brook was nearby them at some angle or another, twisting back and forth with the breeze and humming to himself. There was a tromping sound and Nami stalked by, dark circles under her eyes. 

“Rough night?” Zoro asked her, feeling good enough to engage in conversation. She froze where she was and pivoted to look him in the eye. He winced a little reflexively. Something had pissed her off. What he didn’t know but he wasn’t really looking forward to getting hit with her sharp fist.

Whatever was bothering her she said nothing and instead clenched her hands into her fists and threw herself into her deck chair, calling for a drink already damnit. Sanji cheerfully answered from within the galley and Zoro relaxed a little. A shadow cast over him and he opened one eye. Franky again. 

“Nice room,” he said. The shipwright was giving him an odd look. 

“Yeah uh…bro, about that…” 

“Franky?” Nami called, her voice that pitch you just didn’t argue with. Franky opened his mouth as if to tell Zoro something, took a breath, then shook his head. 

“Never mind.” 

Zoro shrugged and settled back once more as Franky strode off, yawning and stretching out his legs. This was going to be a good nap. 

“Franky, work a little harder on that soundproofing, huh?” Nami said. 

“You got it, sis,” Franky said weakly. 

Zoro shifted, closed his eyes…

Then snapped them open wide.


	23. What's This?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mihawk isn't quite sure what he's gotten into with Perona and Roronoa. At the same time, he doesn't mind it... and gives him a feeling of something familiar... yet long forgotten.

Mihawk had never been good with holidays. He’d never really managed to get into the swing of them, nor had he much desire. Generally speaking, he was only able to dredge up enough “holiday spirit” in himself to drink with RedHair, and he hardly needed a holiday for that. Usually only a day ending in ‘y’ was necessary. Which was why, had anyone asked him why he was permitting Perona to flit about the echoing castle, stringing up black decorations made of paper bats with bows and black skulls with bows…and occasionally, for a change of pace he imagined, bows with skulls with inexplicable eyelashes— he wouldn’t have answered them because what was there to say? First of all she was free to do as she liked, and more to the point free to do what made her happy and not a slumping lonely mess —or a pestering one. Second, he didn’t really mind. It was a change of pace if nothing else. Though he couldn’t help but feel a faint curiosity at just what she expected from him since he wasn’t intending to do much but watch her and drink until it was time to take a nap. 

If his presence was indeed all she required well she was in luck at present.. He could feel Roronoa dangling on the edges of his consciousness, hauling himself castleward with a curl of will, if muddied, only by fatigue and, undoubtedly, blood loss. It was that will which had been the deciding factor of sparing the man’s life to begin with, though it had been acidic then, full of determination and death. The last time, however, something new. Desperation to be sure, but even greater will, like cool spring water churning just below the surface. It wasn’t the most impressive will Mihawk had ever known, nor the strongest, but it had a quality in it that had intrigued him. 

Perhaps because the man’s forehead was pressed against the stone, perhaps because he was begging for something so outlandish that lesser swordsmen would rather die than ask, perhaps because even he, used to battle and the way of the sword, had been weary of the blood and death and death again, chaos and ice and crying and fire, the furious tides of the changing world beating against the cornerstone of Marine presence in the Grand Line. In any case he had agreed and Roronoa had accepted and Perona had stayed around for reasons her own and they had become a very small, very strange …something that he had never expected and yet was learning to appreciate, even if he could not yet name it. 

“All that’s left is the tree!” Perona’s voice cut into his musings. She was watching him with a faint smile, hovering a few feet off the ground as was her wont, and he wondered why she never preferred to be there with a hundred percent of herself. She was looking at him expectantly and after a moment it occurred to him that she expected him to lift the tree into a standing position. It was a big, black needled, monstrosity of a thing and he wasn’t entirely aware of how she’d got it in here to begin with. He watched, faintly amused, as her faint smile turned into a frown and then a scowl before it occurred to him that she intended him to put up the thing. 

“Mou, can’t you help even a little?” she said, tossing one of her long pink pigtails over her shoulder. Mihawk hadn’t really settled on if he wanted to or not, but since she asked and pouted at him for it, he figured he might as well. She’d be in a foul mood otherwise and somehow he hated to spoil all her hard work. He drained his wine and uncrossed his legs, setting his boot on the carpeted floor, just as the doors burst open and presently, Roronoa came staggering in. He looked weary and though his everpresent bandages were spotted here and there with blood, he didn’t seem to be leaving a trail behind him. Mihawk sometimes wondered if it was because he didn’t have that much blood left to spill. 

“Ugh, you!” Perona said, resting her umbrella on her shoulder and giving it a spin before pointing at the hapless green haired man with a lacquered fingernail. “I’m tired of changing your bandages! Aren’t you supposed to be getting stronger?” 

“I am getting stronger, what the hell are you talking about?” Roronoa grumbled back. 

“Then stop bleeding,” Perona said and Mihawk stifled a twitching smile. 

“She has a point, Roronoa,” he said, just to make the man garble in anger, which he did. But then he straightened, cheeks stained red and snorted, taking the teasing seriously, Mihawk saw. It wasn’t entirely meant to be taken seriously, though it was true the less a swordsman bled in the aftermath of a hard fought battle, the more evidence of his skill; so he didn’t retract the statement, curious as to what Roronoa would do. 

“Go change and help me set the tree up,” Perona said imperiously. 

“Why should I?” 

“Because I told you to,” she said, and when he was about to protest added: “And I’ve changed your bandages at least five times now when you’ve nearly _killed_ yourself.” 

Roronoa shut his mouth with an audible click, pouted at her for a second, then trudged toward the grand stair muttering ‘uncute devil woman’ under his breath. Apparently not under enough and Mihawk watched with raised eyebrows Perona swept a ghost through him in an elegant gesture and he crashed to hands and knees, spurting blood on the tiled floor. 

“I want to be reborn as a sand flea,” he moaned. Then shook it off and growled: “Damnit!” 

She ‘horohorohoro’d after him as he stalked up the stairs, then after a moment, neatly pirouetted and blinked at Mihawk as if she’d forgotten he was there. Her lips pursed for a moment and then she pointed to a nearby crate. “Can you at least untangle that?” 

He supposed since he wanted to be here for the entertainment. Mihawk retrieved the crate and went back to his seat. It was filled with grey strands of…what seemed to be ancient popcorn. He wasn’t entirely sure where she’d even found it on this island since it seemed to be a great deal older than he was, but never mind. He began to do as she bid with careful fingers and she smiled again, humming something that he faintly knew was supposed to be happy, but sounded like a dirge.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o—o

Mihawk wondered, as he sometimes did, how Redhair would react if he saw him at one particular moment or the other, usually (but not always) a moment that hedged on something ridiculous. Not that he would call this moment ridiculous, but it was certainly …new… He thought about it as he put hooks on various handmade ornaments (black, orange and pink almost exclusively but with a few silver ones for color, he supposed). Likely the yonkou would drink until he was red faced, say something to Perona, get summarily ghosted and say something ridiculous himself. Mihawk almost wished the man was here so it could come about— but then that would mean putting up with him for days. Maybe even a week. All told, Mihawk would rather not.

He took amusement instead from Roronoa hanging ornaments from the tree at Perona’s direction. Though he looked none too happy at being ordered around, he didn’t argue with her either. In fact it was almost pleasant in a sense. Perona was in her element, floating near the top of the trees, ghosts wreathed about her shoulders as she pointed at this or that or circled the tree as if to double-check for proper placement. Apparently she found something that displeased her, because she straightened and pointed. 

“Move that one to the left,” she said imperiously. Roronoa, grumbling, complied. …Somewhat problematically… and Mihawk’s mouth twitched into a smile again. “To the left I said! Left! Opposite of what you were doing! Why are you so dumb?!” 

“Why is this so damn important anyway?!” Roronoa snapped back. 

“Because it’s our tradition!” Immediately she faltered, her cheeks going pink. “M-my tradition. I- We—.” She bit her lower lip and then her face closed up once more as she turned, pigtails swirling about her. “What do I care? Put it where you want.” 

Roronoa watched her, stubborn and flustered, the ornament dangling from his hand. 

“Sword side, Roronoa,” Mihawk murmured. Roronoa blinked at him, seeming startled at being addressed, then hung it where instructed. It was a black piece, nearly hidden in the overbearing darkness of the pine needles, but here and there it flickered in the dim light. Mihawk wondered if perhaps he, too, should be more proactive. It couldn’t hurt, after all, and he enjoyed Perona in a good mood. 

“What else needs to be done?” he said. And it was her turn to stare at him. She and Roronoa shared a glance as if him speaking up was astonishing. Perhaps it was. He knew himself to be a quiet man well kept out of the (mostly irritating) affairs of others. However, since their affairs were intertwined at the moment… 

Perona smiled again, her cheeks pink and laced her fingers behind her back. She almost seemed shy as she looked at him and he couldn’t really tell if it was affected or not, but it didn’t matter. 

“There’s a few things…” she murmured.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o—o

There had been only a few things left, but none that Mihawk quite expected. The common area was decorated to the hilt with all the black and silver things Perona had managed to procure, as well as two pumpkins, cut with grins flanking the hearth. In addition, she’d wanted a seven course feast prepared and Roronoa to dress up as a cute maid to serve her, but Mihawk had drawn the line before the green haired young man could burst a vessel. They had cooked a small feast, though had cooked it together which had been an interesting experience and he was still finding bits of flour on his clothes that should not be there.

Now, though, cooking and meal had finished and they were sitting in the common room in front of a roaring fire, the tree glimmering just off to their left. Earring side, Mihawk thought with a faint smile. He sat in one chair and Perona the other, fully present for once and looking all the realer for it, though her ever present ghosts hovered around. Roronoa was snoring in front of the fire, lost in a deepest sleep Mihawk had felt from him when he wasn’t trying to recover from gaping wounds. It was perhaps unwise to sleep so soundly, yet spoke of his trust in Mihawk, which was still not a concept he was sure what to with in regards to the man who would defeat him one day. What an odd path to be on. 

Perona yawned hugely, distracting him, and he refilled her wine in a small gesture he wasn’t entirely sure she knew how to appreciate, but no matter. She gave him a drowsy smile and leaned back against the chair, tucking one leg underneath the other which she swung back and forth slowly, humming her dirge. 

“Content?” he asked her after a moment. 

“Mm.” She straightened to sip her wine. “It’s almost like home.” 

Yes, Mihawk thought, refilling his glass and settling back to watch the firelight dance across the floor. It almost was.


	24. The Clown Who Tried to Steal Christmas but Things Got a Little Chaotic and he Somehow Managed to Screw it Up but Enjoyed Himself Anyway: A Parody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was the night before Christmas and all through the house. 
> 
> 'That's the wrong story', you idiot! the mad pirate groused. 'It's not the night before, it's Christmas Day! Though I don't know why I'm saying since you'll wreck it anyway.' 
> 
> 'This sounds fun,' said Luffy, 'I want to see!' 
> 
> And with those fine words, the story proceeds.

_“Every pirate on the sea liked Christmas a lot!  
But Buggy, newest Shichibukai, did not.”_

‘What the hell?!’ said the clown. ‘I like Christmas just fine!’  
‘Oh no… This can’t be’ said his current best friend. ‘We’re speaking in rhyme’  
They stared at each other, just ‘cross the way,  
then, Buggy sighed. ‘Let’s get it out of the way.’  
‘You rhymed way with way,’ said Mr. Of 3. ‘It looks kind of lazy, least seems to me.’  
‘If you stop to complain, we’ll be here all day. Come on! Let’s get going! Chop Chop! Come what may!’ 

_“The clown hated Christmas! The whole Christmas season!  
Now please don’t ask why, no one quite knows the reason.”_

‘Maybe it’s because of these poems,’ said the clown with a sneer. ‘These ones are repeated every damn year.’ 

_”It could be his head wasn't screwed on just right._

‘Oi’ 

_It could be, perhaps, that his shoes were too tight._

‘My shoes are flashy! Do you have an issue? I’ll cut through your gut just like it was tissue.’ 

_But I think that the most likely reason of all,  
May have been that his heart was two sizes too small._

‘That’s it,’ said the pirate. ‘You’re going down.’  
‘Wait!’ said 3, ‘This is a good thing, don’t play it down.’  
And from behind them, they heard from the snow.  
‘He’s cold and he’s ruthless! Yay, Buggy-sencho!’ 

‘I’m gonna lose it,’ said Buggy, hand to his face.  
‘I’m with you,’ said 3. ‘The meter’s all over the place.’  
‘I’m talking death and you’re talking rhyme?! Focus, you bastard! Keep up with the line!’ 

 

As the narrator goes on to say how Christmas was hated, Buggy couldn’t stop but thinking the whole thing overrated. It wasn’t even true, he wasn’t that jerk, who hated people others being happy while he was left in the lurch. He tapped his fingers, he growled and he sneered. He wished he could knife the narrator, but couldn’t see them, just hear. 

With the noise Noise NOISE he reacts, in a snit. 

‘I don’t care if they’re happy! I just want their shit!’  
‘It won’t be easy,’ said 3. ‘If you go against it!’  
‘Do I care?’ said Buggy. ‘I’m a man of the sea! I do what I want and I do it with glee. I’ll hitch up my lion and go get their stuff. And I’ll do it without all the sentiment fluff. My heart is just fine, I don’t need it resized. I just want my treasure. Now where’s my ride?’ 

‘It says here you must make the Santa hat and coat.’  
‘Screw that, I said. I don’t care what they wrote.’  
‘Sencho as Bad Santa?’ cried his criminal mates. ‘That’s perfect! That’s awesome! It’s why Buggy is great!’  
‘Of course it’s my plan,’ said Buggy, who lied. ‘But as for my sewing, I can’t really take pride. So let’s forget it this year.’  
‘No problem!’ They said. ‘We have your hat here!  
‘And I have your coat! And I have your sled!  
‘And I have your lion, all decked and hooked up.  
Now go fly Buggy-sencho! And fuck their shit up!’ 

‘Lions don’t fly!’ Buggy said in desperation.  
Muttered 3: ‘Told you you should’ve followed the narration.’ 

 

‘Alright! Okay!’ said Buggy quite vexed. ‘I’ll listen goddamnit, what’s it say next?’ 

_”Then the Clown said, "Get Moving!" And the sleigh started down,  
Toward the ships where the pirates were sleeping, undrowned.”_

‘Sleighs don’t float!’ said 3 with a wail. ‘How are you made of such incredible fail?’  
‘I didn’t make it!’ Buggy said with a shriek. ‘Now pump out the water and try not to freak.’  
‘It’s no use,’ said 3. ‘We’re sinking, and this looks like the end.’  
‘It’s a dumb way to go… But at least with a friend…’  
They both leaned in close, met the other’s eyes.  
‘What are you doing?!’ said 3.  
‘You started! Don’t lie!’  
But the water was coming, right up to their knees. And there it just stopped for these were quite shallow seas. 

Said 3: ‘So this is how it feels to be losing my mind.’  
Buggy just stared, then sighed in kind, then picked up his sack, all inwardly crying. 

‘Just hold my feet,’ he said, coming apart. ‘I’ll fly on in there, I’ll go find my mark, then I’ll steal all their shit and be out like a lark.’ 

This plan, though daring, was incredibly new. But 3 grabbed his feet and up Buggy flew. 

_”This is stop number one," the tired Buggy Claus groaned,_  
“Chimneys are for idiots. Hey honey, I’m home!”  
The door he flung open, but there was no one around  
Just a tree and some stockings with gifts on the ground.” 

He grabbed all their loot, all their stockings and stuff, then found the door locked, because yeah, great luck. This Christmas thing was a pain in the ass, so he looked for an exit, and found one fast. The fire place loomed, the chimney attached.  
‘Seriously?’ he said, sounding incredibly fratched. 

 

_But he stuffed all their stuff up the chimney, whoopee._  
"And NOW” said Buggy, "Guess I’ll stuff up the tree.  
And the clown grabbed the tree, but before he could go  
He heard a footstep behind him and a voice that said: ‘Yo’.  
He turned around fast, and he saw the rubber brat.  
“Are you kidding?” he said. “I’ve got _your_ stuff in my sack?” 

_“You can’t steal our stuff, Santa,” the kid said at last._  
“If you try I’ll just kick your ass.  
But hey, if you want, you can join our feast!  
We’ll have lots of good food, and even more meat!” 

__**Don’t invite me! You dumb rubber kid!  
** I’m a horrible man! Don’t you know what I did?  
…But he is dumb Buggy thought, then it clicked. **  
I’ll just think of a lie, and I’ll think it up quick!**

_"I’m not stealing the tree," the greedy clown lied,_  
"There's a light on this tree that won't light on one side."  
"So I'm taking it home to my workshop, you see."  
"I'll fix it up and bring it back as quick as can be." 

‘He’ll never buy it,’ said 3 looking glum.  
‘However you slice it, it’s incredibly dumb.’  
‘What are you doing here?!’ Buggy said with a yelp.  
‘Is that 3?’ asked Luffy.  
‘Oh no, just my elf.’ 

‘The sooner we finish’ hissed Buggy to 3.  
‘The sooner we can get out of this dumb story and leave.  
So give him some meat, get him out of the way.’  
‘It won’t be that easy, I don’t care what you say.’ 

‘My elf will help you, give you a meal.  
But if he does, you go back to sleep. Deal?’  
‘Okay!’ said the kid with a bright sunny grin.  
The two men fell over, they just couldn’t with him. 

_”Back on track and now Luffy free.  
Buggy went back to work and stuffed up the—”_

“Ow!” 

. . . 

_”Stuffed up the—”_

“OW!!”

Not knowing what else to do, Buggy set tree aside and looked up the flue.  
Dark eyed and green haired, Zoro glared back at him.  
Buggy felt like his sanity went incredibly thin. 

“What the hell is your problem?” The green haired man said. 

‘What the hell is _your_ problem, I should ask instead! Why the hell are you in there? Wait! I don’t want to know. I got shit to do Roronoa. Get out. Let’s go.’ 

“I’m working on it, damnit.” He wriggled a bit. “Oi, could you give me my sword?” 

‘Yes I’ll give you your sword,’ Buggy said then: ‘How about NOT!’ a great pause and then. ‘Wait why aren’t you rhyming you big stupid clot?’ 

“Why the hell should I rhyme? What’s wrong with you?” 

‘Say a rhyme, damnit! No, make it two!’ 

“Why should I?” 

‘Because, you great dumbass, it screws with the flow! Everything rhymes. That’s just how things go! Listen, make up a rhyme and I’ll give your sword, then you can go and you have my word.’ 

“Sword and word don’t rhyme. Anyway, I’m not going to do something just because you tell me to.” 

‘Then just say a word and I’ll rhyme what you say! It’s driving me crazy, I don’t have all day. Give me a rhyme and I’ll give what you want. Unless you just want to be in there a month.’ 

“Fine,” Zoro said, and closed his eyes as if thinking. 

Buggy waited and waited, his patience all shrinking. How hard was it to think up one little word? This was going past awful and just getting absurd!

‘HURRY UP!’ Buggy snapped. 

“Okay! Uh…shit I don’t know. Orange!” 

Buggy just stared, his patience wore up. That was it, he was done, it was time to play rough. He’d just go to his bag and get him a match. That should clear up the flue in a flash. And if it smelled for a while like burning green hair? Well so what. Screw it. He didn’t care. 

He went to his bag with incredible pose. Then the door opened up and hit him in the nose. 

‘Who the hell—?’ Buggy started. Then: ‘Oh Christ on a Cracker.’  
‘Hoho! Been a long time you great blue haired slacker!’  
‘ME A SLACKER?! Shut your mouth, Shanks! I’m robbing these kids, not slacking, thanks.’  
‘Come on, Buggy,’ said Shanks with a laugh. ‘It’s Christmas, you doofus! Not time to attack’ 

“I gave you a word now give me my sword, damnit.” 

‘Here you go,’ said Shanks and his laugh increases, as he drags Buggy back and chimney’s cut to pieces.  
‘Forget the presents. I’m going to go before I go any madder.’  
‘Not stay for the feast? But you’ll just be sadder.’  
‘I don’t care about sadder, just let me go!’  
‘Not until the last course! Come on, let’s go!’ 

Buggy tried to squirm free and got to the door, but then was nearly trampled right down to the floor. In came everybody with smiles on their faces, presents and potluck, and booze in great cases. 

The people that came were varied, too. There were Whitebeards, Skypieans and Revolutionaries, too. Some Mermaids and Fishmen,and a boxed guy with a zoo. There were pirates and doctors, and ship building masters, a small contingent from that place Alabasta, giants from Elbaf, okama that preened, Boa Hancock and Mihawk and two pissed off Marines. 

More and more they came, from one side to the other, a cannibal that cried and a should be dead brother. Buggy sat, rather crowded, between Shanks and 3, wondering just what his life came to be. 

‘Hey guys!’ called Luffy. ‘Before we all start.’

“You’re already eating,” said Zoro and all laughed at that part. 

‘Shishishi! Brothers! Nakam! Friends far and near! From all that have helped us throughout the years! Thanks for coming and please eat a lot! There's plenty around so no need to stop! Enjoy the season and all the fun it brings! From Monkey D. Luffy, the next Pirate King!’ 

They roared and they banged ale mugs on the table. Buggy tried to resist as long as he was able, but surrounded by good cheer and good food, too. Old friends and old faces and some new ones, and crew, he couldn’t help but get carried away with the rest! Because partying, well, is what a pirate does best. 

_The party goes on, forever it seems_  
As the ship floats away on an ocean of dreams.  
And you can hear Luffy call as the ship sails out of sight:  
“Merry Christmas to all! And to all a good night!” 


End file.
